


Remember Me

by QuidditchMom (eibbil_one)



Series: Remember Me Trilogy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Pre-Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eibbil_one/pseuds/QuidditchMom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Ron believed that Hermione died when Voldemort did four years ago. Dreams and a mysterious message lead them to her. But when they find Hermione, she doesn't know who they are. Will she remember? Can she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry sat up in his bed, wiping a shaking hand across his forehead. Across the scar. He didn't know whether the dream had awoken him, or the faint pressure in his head, but both were disconcerting.

For three nights, he had jerked awake in the middle of the night. He had only the vague memory of standing in a room of all white, the shadow of a woman on the opposite end. He kept trying to speak to her, but got the feeling she couldn't hear him. Somehow, he knew it was important that she hear him.

And the pressure from his scar, while not exactly worrying him, wasn't making the apprehension fade. It wasn't the pain he'd sensed while Voldemort was still alive. This was more of an ache, like a shadow of a remembered sprain.

Flopping back onto the mattress, Harry resolved to contact Ron and Sirius in the morning. Between them, they'd figure it out. If only they had Hermione with them, she would call up a hundred book references in a second, and He felt anew the ragged edges of his grief over Hermione's disappearance. He refused to call it her death anymore.

*^*^*^*^

Jane sat fidgeting on the slightly uncomfortable doctor's table, waiting for the door to open. She still wasn't sure what she was going to tell him, but she knew she needed help. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror over the sink, Jane sighed. If anything, the circles under her eyes were a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

"Jane," the doctor rapped once on the door before walking through, "what can I do for you today?" He was a nice looking man, mid-fifties with lines at the eyes and gray through the temples.

"You can tell me I'm not going insane," Jane's voice hitched.

"You're not going insane," the doctor deadpanned back. "Anything else?"

Despite her fears, Jane felt a small laugh bubble up. Dr. Ramsey had been the one to find her four years ago, hurt and confused and wandering on the side of a Virginia highway. He'd taken her to the hospital and then taken her under his wing. He'd tried everything known to man to uncover her memories, only to meet failure every time. Even though they hadn't been successful, she adored Dr. Ramsey for all his efforts to help.

And help he had. When she'd been released from the hospital, she'd been a non-person. No name meant no identification. No ID meant no job, no school, no nothing. But Dr. Ramsey had found a group that would help her. They'd guessed her age at around seventeen and had gone from there. A week after she'd left, she'd started her new life with her new name. The hospital called her Jane Doe, and she'd kept it. It may not be who she'd been, but it was who she was now.

After three years of shelving books all day for the college, she'd received her degree in library science. At least that had been one thing she'd been sure of early on. The minute she'd stepped into a library, she'd felt at home.

Her current position as assistant librarian in a small suburban Washington DC library kept her happy, busy and content. It didn't really bother her that she had no memories from before her hospital stay. Or it hadn't, until the dreams came back.

"Seriously, though," Ramsey cleared his throat, "tell me what's going on."

"I've had a bad week," Jane said softly. An understatement at the very least. "The dreams are back...with a vengeance. I don't think I've slept the night through in about five days. My back hurts. I can't concentrate. You name it."

Those horrid dreams. When she'd first been in the hospital, they'd come every night. The same few moments repeated over and over until she woke. Only to start again the moment she fell back to sleep. But as time passed, the dreams had faded to a vague memory. She'd foolishly believed they were gone for good.

"Well, let's check over the physical side and then we'll deal with the rest."

Dr. Ramsey poked and prodded all the usual spots with no more than a "Hmmm" to give away what he found or didn't find. But when he replaced the "Hmmm" with a "what the hell" Jane nearly jumped from her skin.

"What's wrong?"

"Did you hurt your back, or did it just start to ache?" He came around to face her, then rummaged through a drawer.

"It just started aching, why?"

"You've got a mark on your back. I've seen it before, but not since the night I found you." When he found a mirror, she craned her neck around to see it. Right at the base of her spine, there was now the faint outline of a lightning bolt.

Unsettled, Jane handed the mirror back. Dr. Ramsey let the mark drop. "Tell me about the dreams. Are they the same?"

"For the most part. Same dark cave, same feelings of pain and fear and sorrow. Same flashing green lights. But there is something new, though. I used to wake at the green lights, but now it simply shifts to a white room with a soft voice whispering to me. I can barely hear it, but it sounds like a man asking 'where are you?'"

"That's excellent, Jane!" Dr. Ramsey exclaimed, a broad smile lighting up his face.

"What do you mean?" Jane was confused. She'd thought the return of the dreams was a step backwards.

"If you're dreaming that someone is trying to find you, you might be trying to remember. Every time we've tried to work on your real name, we've been blocked by your own defenses. That's why I stopped trying. Now it looks as though your mind is finally ready. My best advice right now would be to try and focus on the dreams. Don't be afraid of them, just let them come."

Easy advice to give, Jane grumbled to herself later that night as she sat on her bed. How the hell was she supposed to not be afraid of the horrid things she saw in her sleep? The motionless forms of three people, blood spattered about them. The sickening feeling that it had been her fault they were injured or dead.

Resigned, she reached over to shut off the lamp. But there was an odd word on the tip of her tongue. Something like pox.

And before she knew what was what, she was trapped again in the dream cave. But this time, Jane was determined to master the dream. _Do what comes naturally, Jane. Focus on the details._ There was a stick in her hand, the end of which seemed on fire, although the fire wasn't spreading. She could feel tears on her cheeks and reached to brush them away. She saw one of the motionless lumps begin to stir and pointed the stick at him. He raised a stick of his own and she turned away from it. The flashing green lights came, as did the pain in her back. But this time, she heard a voice scream besides her own. A man's voice. A strange name. And a long, drawn out _Noooooo._

Jane wanted to wake up, but heard Dr. Ramsey telling her not to be afraid. And then the pain was gone and she was sitting in the white room. There was a table with candles on it this time, and the vague outline of a man in one corner. And she could hear his voice more clearly.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"Where's here? Are you hurt? Are you alive? Are you real?"

"I'm fine," the sheer panic and sorrow in the man's voice had her wanting to comfort him. "I'm real. I live in Virginia, northern Virginia." At her words, she heard a vague beeping. Alarm clock, she thought. And as she left her dream, she could hear the same scream as in the cave.

...mione, nooooooo."

*^*^*^*^

Mione. The word meant nothing to her. But it seemed somehow familiar. Like, well, like a dream.

She'd sat at her desk, rolling it over and over in her head. "Mariah?" Jane asked as her friend and coworker as she placed her purse under the circulation desk. "Have you ever heard the word mione?"

Mariah nearly dropped her coffee cup, but managed to recover before it fell. "You mean as in my ol' knee is hurtin' something awful?" Mariah grinned, but Jane thought fleetingly that the smile looked forced.

"Well, that's one variation I hadn't thought of," Jane matched her friend's smile. "Something about the word strikes me as very familiar, but I can't place it. I've searched just about every phonetic spelling on the internet and have come up with squat."

"Well, I've never heard anything like it. Sorry. What did the doc say, by the way?"

Jane recounted the doctor's take on the situation and Mariah agreed. "Dreams are your subconscious taking out the trash, Janey. I'd say with no memory of your childhood years you've got a powerful amount of garbage between your ears. You just let me know if you need anything and I'll be there, okay?"

Silently, Jane thanked whatever power had brought Mariah into her life. She was a good friend, full of no nonsense advice. She'd come to work at the library a few weeks after Jane. They made an odd pair, standing together. Jane petite with flyaway chin length hair, Mariah model thin and tall with straight black hair that ended razor sharp at her shoulders. But the physical differences were insignificant to her, they'd been like sisters from the start.

Jane searched various internet sites, library references and old newspapers for three more days before resolving to let it go. She hadn't found anything on the word mione. The initial rush to figure it out had faded with the dreams. The nightmare portion of the theatre in her subconscious had ended. When she slept now, all she saw was the white room and the silhouette of a man. Sometimes he spoke, sometimes he didn't.

The odd mark was still on her back, and seemed to be getting darker every day, but she figured that would just be another mystery to add to the heaping pile of them in her life.

"Excuse me?" Jane looked up, way up, at the tall man in front of her. He had a strong British accent and the most incredible green eyes she'd ever seen, hidden though they were behind round glasses. He also seemed to need a haircut quite badly.

"Can I help you?" she put on her best librarian's voice, soft yet sturdy.

The man seemed to jerk back at the sound of her voice, but he recovered so quickly she was sure she'd imagined it. He was staring at her, and the green of his eyes seemed to bore into her own. She nearly placed a hand to her chest to quiet the hammering of her heart.

"I'm looking for books on witches and wizards," the man said calmly, one eyebrow raising.

"We have several wonderful stories in the children's section, at the back of the library near the elevators. The children's librarian can help you locate them," Jane directed. She tried to convey a this-conversation-is-over tone. For reasons she couldn't name, the man made her nervous.

He got the hint and headed where she'd directed him. Raising a stack of papers to her face, she watched as he walked towards children's section. He didn't go all the way, but stopped to talk to another man, glancing back over his shoulder at her. Hastily, she put the papers in front of her face. When she peeked again, both men were gone.

Moments after the tall man had left, a group of home schooled children showed up for a tutorial on the Dewey Decimal system. They kept her so busy, she didn't even remember him until the next day, when another British man came up to her desk. This one, with a head of flaming red hair.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. She couldn't place him, but he looked familiar. And then it hit her -- he was the man Green Eyes had stopped to talk to the day before. A stir of unease hit her stomach.

"I'm looking for anything written by this woman," the man said quietly, handing her a slip of thick paper.

"Hermione Granger?" Jane read, pronouncing it phonetically as hermy- own. "I've never heard of her, but I'll look it up." Turning to her computer, she tapped the keys and came up empty. "Sorry. I can't seem to find anything in our records by her." Jane handed the paper back to the man. He walked away without another word.

Jane lowered her head and watched through her bangs as he walked towards the elevators and then veered suddenly into the non-fiction stacks. Unable to help herself, Jane left the desk and followed him. She was walking down the aisle next to him when she heard his voice. It sounded like he was muttering to himself.

"It fits. Of all people to work in a library, it'd be her ."

When there was no further sound, Jane walked stealthily to the end of the rack and peered down the aisle. There was no one there. That was odd in itself. But Jane could have sworn he was cut off while still speaking.

Later that night, Jane settled in at her computer, finally giving in to the urge to research. There were still a few variations of the word she hadn't tried. Once she'd come home, she'd taken a long shower, brewed some tea. The tea.

Checking the workspace around the computer and coming up empty, Jane remembered that she'd left it in the kitchen, still steeping next to the kettle.

"Accio tea," she muttered, then nearly jumped. "What the hell was that?" she asked the empty room, a chill going down her spine. Shakily, she went to retrieve the teacup, telling herself the whole way that she hadn't heard it rattle against the saucer. She'd have convinced herself if the tea had been where she'd left it.

Confused, she looked around the small kitchen, finally locating it on the table in the dining area. "You're losing it, sweetheart," she grumbled, wondering how she'd forgotten that she moved the cup. When a small voice whispered "did you?", Jane ignored it.

An hour later, Jane shut down the computer in disgust. Nothing. Nada. Zip. When she heard the clock chime the hour, she rose from her seat and headed to bed.

Shedding her clothes with a minimum of fuss, Jane peeled back the scarlet and gold bedspread and climbed beneath it. Since the nightmare had faded into a boring wait in a white room, Jane no longer felt apprehension about going to sleep. Dr. Ramsey didn't say it, but he was a little let down that she had remembered nothing else. Jane wasn't let down at all. She'd given up on her former life years ago. Whatever it had been.

Sure enough, Jane thought. Here I sit. The dream room hadn't changed much since the first time. Same white walls, small candle covered table. So Jane almost fell off her chair when she saw the door. Intrigued, she walked over. The door opened the moment her hand made contact.

She was on a wide grassy field. Tall posts and spectator stands were at either end of the field. The man was there, too. But now she recognized him. Or rather, she'd inserted Green Eyes into her dream.

"Hello?" she said tentatively.

He turned slowly and began to walk towards her. He crossed the distance in moments, stopping a few feet in front of her.

"Hello," he said quietly. "You've cut your hair."

It seemed an odd thing for a man that just met her the day before to say and she told him as much.

"I guess it seems that way to you. But we haven't just met. We've known each other since we were children." His hand raised to touch her, but it passed through her like smoke. "Remember."

And then he was gone.

And she was in the cave. The stick was on fire again, but she didn't want it to be. No, it wasn't a stick. It was a wand. She whispered "Nox" and the light went out. Then she heard voices.

"We should have told her we were coming down here."

"She's still not on her feet, Ron. That was some fall she took," the voice sounded very shaky, like it was concealing great emotion.

"Any idea why she was so upset? I couldn't get anything out of her when she woke up."

"Yeah," the voice lowered, but said no more.

"I think we should head back up. It's quiet now, and we're strongest when we're all together."

She opened her mouth to tell them she was there, but a flash of green blinded her.

Jane sat up in her bed, panting and covered in sweat. She reached for the bedside table, grabbed the pencil she kept for phone messages and whispered "Lumos". Then she woke completely and wondered where the hell that had come from. Switching on the lamp, she checked the clock. Three a.m.

She took up the notepad and tried to write down as much as she could remember from the dream. The man with the green eyes. The cave. The wands. The man with the green eyes.

Yawning, she replaced the pad and turned the lamp back off and settled back into the covers. The base of her spine ached slightly and she shifted to find a comfortable position.

Jane slipped back into sleep, absently rubbing the mark and muttering "Harry ."


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Jane's back was still aching. Sitting at her desk in the library didn't help, so Mariah suggested she take a walk through the nearby park during her lunch hour.

The day was bright and lovely, a gift for early June when the region was usually bracing for high temperatures and stifling humidity. A warm breeze threw her chin length hair into disarray, but she didn't mind. It was usually in disarray so the chances of anyone noticing were slim.

Gripping her lunch bag in her hand, Jane started looking for a place to eat when she saw him. She wasn't sure how she knew it was Green Eyes, as his head was buried in his hands, but she did.

"Excuse me?" she said hesitantly. She fought the urge to jump back when his head whipped up sharply. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that there were tears in his eyes. And there were circles beneath them that hadn't been there a few days ago.

"Hello, again" he said softly.

"May I sit here?" she asked. Everything she'd ever read about women alone steering away from strange men flitted through her head. She rationalized that they were in a public park surrounded by others, so she was probably safe.

"Of course," came the same soft reply as he shifted to make room for her.

Jane began to open her bag and extract a sandwich, but stopped before her hand closed around it. He didn't say anything at all, he would glance at her and then off into the distance. "Are you all right?" she ventured.

He seemed a bit taken aback by her question. "As good as can be expected," he answered vaguely.

The silence stretched and Jane floundered for something to say. "So what brings you to our country? I mean, you are British, right?" she continued hastily at his curious stare.

"I was looking for a friend," he said on a deep sigh.

"Any luck?"

"None to amount to anything," his voice carried so much sadness, Jane's heart tripped.

"Do you have a picture, maybe I've seen this friend?" Jane thought he was about to reach for one, but then he seemed to change his mind.

"No. But even if I did, it would be very out of date. She disappeared years ago."

"She was a good friend?" Jane could hear his affection for the girl in every word he spoke. She envied her, wherever she was.

"The best I ever had." He paused, and then shifted to stare straight into her eyes with an intensity that burrowed into her soul. "At first, we didn't know that she'd merely disappeared. We thought she'd died. It nearly killed me. I spent years at the bottom of a bottle, blaming myself. Then my best friend finally reached me through the alcohol haze, and we put together that something else may have occurred altogether. Last week, I got a report that she may be somewhere around here. So here I am."

Jane saw a glistening around his eyes, and felt answering tears prick her own. "You were in love with her," she said plainly.

"Yes," he sighed again. "She didn't know. I tried to tell her, but got the distinct impression she didn't want to hear it."

A nearby church chimed the hour and Jane leapt from the bench. "Oh my goodness, I'm late getting back to work. Good luck in your search, uh

"Harry," he answered, eyes still boring into hers. "Harry Potter."

"Good luck, Harry," she called, walking backwards. She was loathe to break eye contact with him, but had to if she was going to get back to the library without falling on her rear. "I'm Jane, by the way," she called then felt like an idiot.

Harry watched her go, a mingle of sorrow and exhilaration coursing through him. They'd found her. But what good was that, when she didn't remember who he was. Hell, he cursed, she didn't even know who she was.

Moments after Hermione had fled for the library, Ron joined him on the bench. "So?" he asked laconically.

"Damn it all to hell," Harry spat.

"Didn't go so well, then? I saw you two together and thought it best to wait until she left. What did she say?"

"She doesn't remember a damn thing. It's the oddest feeling, Ron. There she sits. After four years of thinking her dead, she's sitting beside me. But her hair is shorter and she has an American accent, and she doesn't know who the bloody hell I am. Damn Voldemort's black soul for this."

"I think that's a done deal," Ron cringed at Harry's use of the name. Four years dead and the Dark Lord's name still gave him the creeps. "Any luck on reversing this?"

"No. And I've heard from Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus. Even with evidence she's alive, there's nothing they can do. There is no precedent. Weツ池e on our own. I spoke to a Muggle doctor this morning. Pretended to be doing research. He said there is no known treatment for memory loss. Just waiting. Sometimes the memories come back, sometimes they don't. And trying to force them could be dangerous for the patient. I'm assuming that means magical intervention as well."

"So our only hope is that she comes up with it on her own?" Ron didn't sound too hopeful.

"Not exactly. I did find something that might help. If I am near enough to her while she's sleeping, I can perform a sleep charm that may help me get into her dreams. Maybe if I can show her things in her sleep, she'll remember them when she's awake."

"Sounds pretty iffy to me. Never heard of anyone going into someone else's dreams before." Ron snorted. "You think it'll work?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "I think it'll work." He couldn't tell Ron that it had already worked, twice, in fact. Or that he had no idea how. The sleep charm was as good a story, and he had found one. But that didn't explain why, for the past two weeks, he'd been seeing Hermione in his dreams. Or why he got the feeling she was seeing him, too.

*^*^*^

Jane sat in her bedroom, still shaking slightly, with her hand on the phone. She'd jokingly asked Dr. Ramsey two weeks ago if she was going insane. Now she wasn't sure it was a joke. Something was happening, and Jane didn't like it.

After her meeting in the park with Harry, she'd headed down to the basement stacks to move some books up to the main library floor. As she'd been carrying one very heavy box, it had seemed to lighten as she made her way upstairs. It wasn't until later that she'd remembered muttering as she climbedツingardium or something.

Then, when she'd been on a high ladder shelving books, she'd used the word Accio again, but this time there was no tremble. Instead, the book she'd been looking at had risen from the floor and thumped into her hand.

But the hardest thing to cope with had been the voice. As she was staring at the book, she'd heard an older, female voice with a distinct Scottish accent murmur in her head "Magic without a wand is very advanced, my dear. Well done."

So now, here she was, trying to call Dr. Ramsey. But she couldn't seem to make her fingers dial the number. No matter how hard she fought it, her arms wouldn't obey. For some reason, she needed to keep these things secret.

Resigned, Jane first whispered "Nox" then shook her head and switched off the lamp. Maybe eight hours of dreamless, restorative sleep would help. Or maybe she'd just check herself into the loony bin in the morning.

She was almost relieved at first not to be in either a cave or a white room. Maybe her subconscious had decided to give her a break. She was seated on a very comfortable leather couch in front of a roaring fire. She felt peaceful and happy with a vague sense of anticipation. _Now this is a dream I could live with,_ she thought.

Before she could get too comfortable, Jane felt a presence behind her. She wasn't exactly surprised to see Harry standing over her behind the couch. A sense of deja vu overcame her.

"Hi," she said with a smile. "Imagine you turning up in my dream."

"Yeah, imagine." Jane thought he sounded apprehensive. Odd for a figment of her subconscious.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Jane scooted over on the couch to make room for him.

"Does it look familiar at all?"

"No," she said, a trace of her old dismay with the loss of her former life. "But then very little does to me. I was in an accident of some sort four years ago. Lost my memory entirely."

The events of the day caught up to her and her voice hitched as she spoke.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, placing a tentative hand to her shoulder.

"Outside of losing my mind on top of my memory, yeah, I'm peachy." She was swallowing a lump in her throat and it was making speech difficult.

"Why do you think you're losing your mind?" he asked gently.

"Weird things are happening. First the dreams started again, then this mark on my back reappears. I'm using Latin words I've never heard before, and things are moving by themselves all around me." The last sapped her resolve and tears began spilling down her face.

"You're not losing your mind, HerツJane. You're remembering."

"Remembering what?" she sniffed, more confused than ever.

"Who you were, what you were."

Jane bolted out of her bed so fast, she nearly fell down once her feet hit the bedroom carpet. She glanced around the room, halfway expecting Harry to still be sitting next to her. But he wasn't. She was alone. And she wasn't going to remember anything else. Ever. Her past was just that. She didn't care about who she'd been, only who she was.

Jane repeated the litany to herself many times before she went back to sleep.

 

In a car parked in front of her house, Harry jerked awake. Ron, reading a magazine on American football merely raised an eyebrow. "Did it work?"

"Yes," Harry smiled, which made Ron frown. He didn't think those muscles worked on Harry's face anymore.

"What are you so happy about all of the sudden?"

"She's remembering, Ron. She told me she's doing magic, but she's scared of it. Doesn't understand why things are moving around by themselves. She must be muttering summoning charms without knowing what she's saying."

"I'd forgotten that. Close to the end of seventh year, she barely needed her wand at all for the simpler charms. You going to try again?" Ron indicated the still dark bedroom window.

"No. I need some real sleep and so does she." Harry laid his head onto the headrest as Ron negotiated their way out of the neighborhood. Neither had been quite sure how Muggle America worked, but both had been fairly certain that two men standing outside a woman's house, one clearly asleep, would arouse suspicion. So they'd hired a car and parked out front.

"Should we contact the Grangers?" Ron asked, steering the car carefully. Even though nearly ten years had passed, neither had truly forgotten the Anglia adventure.

"Not yet. At this point, it would be too cruel to say 'we found your daughter but she doesn't know who you are'. Let's give it some time."

Once back in their hotel room, Harry nearly fell onto the bed. Entering Hermione's dream had been more exhausting than he'd expected it to be. Ron amused himself with the TV, which left Harry to his thoughts.

He felt a little bad about lying to everyone back home, especially the Weasleys and the Grangers, but there was no help for that. So they'd told everyone they were going to explore America as Muggles for a while. No one said it to their faces, but he knew they all thought Harry had lost his few remaining marbles and that Ron had accompanied him to make sure he didn't go back off the deep end.

But none of that mattered now. They'd found Hermione. She was alive and well. And she was remembering.

Harry slept that night with his mind clear and optimism surrounding him for the first time in four years.

*^*^*^

Jane sat once again in Dr. Ramsey's exam room. And this time, she wasn't leaving without sleeping pillsstrong sleeping pills. She was going to stop dreaming or stop sleeping.

"But why, Jane?" Dr. Ramsey looked crestfallen. "These dreams seem to be unlocking the doors on your memory."

"I want them locked. Locked tight," Jane's lip quivered as she finished.

"I don't understand," Dr. Ramsey closed her chart and met her eyes. "Why all of the sudden are you adamant about not remembering anything?"

"I just am," Jane was fighting hard to keep the tears at bay.

"You must be close to remembering everything if you're this panicked." At Jane's confused stare, he continued. "I've always thought, and many agree with me, that one of the prime reasons for prolonged amnesia is the patient's mental block of a disturbing occurrence. Once the original trauma has passed, they simply refuse to remember the rest. I think this may be the case with you, Jane."

She left the doctor's office a few minutes later, scared and angry. She was angry with Dr. Ramsey for refusing to give her sleeping pills and scared for a reason she couldn't name.

As she made her way across the park towards the library, she was stunned to see Harry sitting on the same bench. An apprehensive tingle filtered down her spine, but she thrust it aside. After all, its not like he'd know she dreamed about him last night.

"Jane," he called almost gleefully when he saw her. Jane nearly stumbled. Was this the same despondent man she'd been talking to yesterday?

"Hi, Harry," she tried for light and airy but didn't think she achieved it. "Any news on your search?"

"Making progress," he smiled. And what a smile it is, she thought. He should do it more often.

"Glad to hear it," she said without inflection.

"You all right?" his smile faded a bit at her lack of one.

"Didn't sleep well last night, and now I'm late for work."

"Can I meet you for lunch today?" Harry asked, a shy sort of grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jane was about to answer, but then Harry reached over and touched her hand. She jumped back a few steps as if scalded. "I've got to go," she said nearly running from him. She heard him calling after her but kept running and didn't stop until she'd reached the basement stacks.

Panting and covered in a cold sweat, she closed her eyes. Pictures flung themselves through her conscious mind. Images without context, without sound. Of a kissof panicof fearand then the sensation of falling and tumblingand pain, lots of pain. "No. No. No," she muttered.

 

 

Harry fought all his instincts to run after Hermione when she fled. His optimism faded slightly, and he slumped back onto the bench. Without warning, their last meeting played through his head. And he remembered it vividly, as across the way, she desperately tried not to.

"Why did you need to see me, Harry?" Hermione asked as they stood near the top of one the staircases, well away from all the classes in session.

"We need to talk." The way he said it though, it sounded like he'd rather do anything but. For all that had happened to him, he still wasn't that quick on his feet speaking one on one.

"I know. I can feel the pressure building daily. We're going to have to get into that cave before he gains his full power. We're running out of time."

For weeks, strange events had made Harry, Ron and Hermione began to question whether or not another showdown with Voldemort was in fact headed their way. They'd managed to thwart his efforts so far, but with every minor victory, he'd come back somehow stronger. Harry knew Hermione was afraid that it would come out as a death match between them. She and Ron had been working doubly hard to make sure that Harry had two defenders with him when the time came.

But he couldn't face Voldemort until he faced Hermione.

"That's not what I meant," Harry said quietly, reaching out and taking her hand.

"What are you doing?" a nervous quiver caught in Hermione's voice.

"Hermione, for seven years you've been the best friend a wizard could have. And through all that time, I've . er."

"Harry, don't," Hermione nearly pleaded, but Harry didn't listen.

"I can't fight this anymore," he sighed, and tugged at the hand he held until she was in his arms and his lips touched hers. It was as sweet and magical as any first kiss should be, but it changed almost immediately. All the bottled up desire of the past year shot through both of them into that one embrace. For several stolen moments, they stood entwined body and soul.

Hermione pulled away and backed several steps from Harry, her hands shaking.

 _"Please don't pull away from me," Harry said softly, taking a few steps toward her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but we've both been fighting this for a long time, Mione. You've dated, I've dated. And none of our relationships have worked. Because we were meant_   
_to be, you and me. I think we've known it from the start."_

"No," Hermione said sharply. "I don't know that. All I know is that we are friends, the three of us. We have to be friends. No more, no less. You have to stay away from me, Harry. This can't happen. You don't understand."

"Then help me to understand." Harry took a few steps forward.

Hermione backed further away as Harry moved towards her. And in her distressed state, she didn't notice how close she'd moved to the stairs until it was too late.

Harry had watched dumbfounded as she fell, tumbling over and over down the stairs. It took a few precious moments for him to regain his wits enough to stop her fall.

Back on the bench, Harry sighed. He still didn't know why she'd been so adamant that they had to remain only friends. That was the last time he'd spoken to Hermione Granger. The next time he'd seen her had been moments before she'd disappeared, falling victim to Voldemort's dying act of revenge on Harry.

"Mione," Harry said quietly, head in his hands. "What made you pull away?" He drew in deeply. "And why do I get the feeling that you were afraid of me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Jane made her way back up to the main library floor, willing her hands to stop shaking. By the time she got to the desk, she'd convinced herself that nothing was wrong. That lack of sleep, combined with the doctor's prediction that her memories were resurfacing, had her imagining things.

Besides, any woman sitting alone with a man she barely knew would tense up at him touching her. Okay, she reasoned, tensing up was a little different than the full-blown panic she'd felt, but the rationalization worked for her.

Her brush with past memories had been neither thought about nor retained. Her brain had effectively wiped the experience away.

Her workday passed with nothing out of the ordinary happening. A blessing and  
a curse, because time seemed to drag. When she found herself idle, her thoughts  
returned to the British man that had come from nowhere and set her even, ordered  
life off its axis. Jane had read enough love stories to know a hackneyed when-we-met-I-just-knew  
scenario when she saw one. But that's how she felt. The connection had been  
there from the moment he'd said...

"Excuse me?" Jane nearly yelped when she heard him say it just as she was thinking it.

"Did I startle you?" Harry's brow furrowed.

"I was just thinking," she left the thought unfinished, not wanting him to know exactly what she'd been thinking.

"So was I," Harry started uneasily. "Based on your earlier reaction, I guessed lunch was out," he let a small smile tug at his mouth. "How about dinner?"

There was something about that smile, and the green eyes twinkling down at her that made the last of her apprehension fade. The link she'd felt with him was too compelling to not explore further. "I'd love to."

^*^*^*

A comfortable silence ensued as they made their way to a nearby restaurant. It wasn't much, just a little Italian place buried next to a grocery store. But Jane loved their food and she was known there. Dreams or not, she was still dining with a man she barely knew. Home court advantage was definitely the rule of the day.

Orders placed, Jane and Harry watched each other over the rims of their drinks. Harry, wanting a clear head, had stuck with water. "So tell me about your friend, the one that's missing."

Harry was very glad he hadn't had his water glass to his mouth. He'd have sprayed her with it. "She was," he paused, gathering thoughts, "unique."

"You fly across an ocean for unique?"

"It's complicated, I guess," Harry smiled. "We met at boarding school when we were eleven years old. She was an insufferable know-it-all back then, quoting books left and right, always positive she was right about everything." Harry paused again, grinning wildly. "It didn't help that she usually was."

Jane watched him as he spoke. There was a light to him when he spoke of this girl, a near radiance. She found herself envying her once again. "Does she have a name?"

The internal debate took Harry a few moments. But he reasoned that if she hadn't recognized her name in writing, she wouldn't when it was spoken. The doctor's words about forcing memories being dangerous echoed in his ears, but he pushed on anyway. "Her name was....is Hermione."

"So what changed?" Jane asked, elaborating when he looked at her quizzically. "I mean, what would make you charge over here for such a know-it-all bookworm?"

"Well, we were only eleven when we formed that opinion," Harry said, not sure how he felt that she had no reaction at all to her own name. "We came to depend on her bookish nature to help us get out of one scrape or another. And she saved us with her knowledge more times than I can count. Over time, we became best friends. The three of us did everything together."

"Three?"

"My best friend, Ron, was the third side of our little triangle."

"What kind of things?" Jane asked. As she had no memories of her own, she loved hearing stories of other's childhood friendships. She knew she was just living vicariously, but didn't care.

Harry pondered this for a moment. He didn't think battling mountain trolls or rescuing hippogriffs would go over well, so he wracked his brain for anything that could be understood by someone drenched in the Muggle world.

"We studied together, shopped for our school supplies, spent time at Ron's house with his family over the summers. We spent a lot of time at the pub in the local village, plotting ways to make life miserable for the one student we all hated. And of course, he spent equal amount of time doing the same. Usually made for some fireworks when our plans met up with each other's."

Jane and Harry looked down in front of them. At some time during their conversation, their dinners had arrived. They shifted gears to neutral topics as they ate, and finished eating before Jane was ready for their evening to end.

They were sipping cappuccino when Harry asked what she'd been dreading. "So tell me about your childhood friends."

"I don't have any," she said simply, silently begging that he drop it. He didn't.

"You mean none that you keep in touch with?" Harry prodded, fishing for some clue as to how she had ended up in this situation. All he knew for certain was that her memory was gone. If he had a hope of fixing this, he needed to know how it had happened.

"No. I mean none at all." Jane inhaled sharply and told him everything. "About four years ago a doctor and his family were on their way home from dinner when they spotted a girl wandering on the side of the highway. She was babbling, hunched over and nearly catatonic. They got her to a hospital and found no evidence of drug use, physical abuse or injury. It was five days before the girl even spoke, and when she did, they found that she had no memory. Outside of being able to walk, talk and read, the girl was a blank slate."

"And that girl was you," Harry said, fighting with everything in him not to take her hand in his, fighting not to wipe away the tears laying unnoticed on her cheeks.

"Yes. An extensive search was launched to find out who I was. But after two weeks, there was nothing. No missing person's reports, no friends searching for me. In the end, everyone decided that I was a runaway. The doctor, Dr. Ramsey, did everything he could to help me get on my feet. I'll be grateful to him until the day I die."

 _And so will I_ , Harry thought. "That must have been very difficult. I can't imagine waking up one day not knowing who I was."

"You get through," Jane said mechanically.

^*^*^*^*

Later that night, Jane sat at the edge of her bed and sighed. It had been such a peaceful night. She truly enjoyed Harry's company. He seemed a little shy at first, but once he'd warmed up he'd kept her giggling with stories about his friends. She felt a little envious, wishing she had memories of old friends to cheer her when times got rough. She told him about her best friend Mariah, but those stories hadn't had the same camaraderie as Harry's had.

Settling the covers around her chin, Jane desperately wished that she'd see Harry again soon.

 _And then she was sitting across from him in the white room. "This isn't quite what I had in mind," she said._

 _"Sorry?" he asked, puzzled._

 _"Never mind. Do you know what this place is?" Jane asked, waving a hand to indicate the room._

 _"I think it's your subconscious," Harry grinned. "Would you like to go somewhere else?"_

 _They both stood and Jane followed Harry out of the door and straight into a bar. An odd assortment of people were gathered around in what looked like Halloween costumes. Some wore robes and odd shaped hats, some had on what could only be described as medieval wear. "Must be a theme party," she muttered, but the room was so loud Harry didn't hear her._

 _He stopped walking a few feet from a table that sat a man with his head slumped onto crossed arms. She glanced up at Harry, surprised to see a tortured look on his face. Jane almost had to jump aside when another man ran past them._

 _"Harry," the redheaded man poked a finger onto the slumped man's head. Jane assumed this was Ron. And then she realized that Ron was the other man she'd seen with Harry at the library._

 _"G'way, Ron," came the muffled response, confirming Jane's suspicion._

 _"This is important," Ron tried again, but Harry remained slouched over. "You're going to hate me for this, but I have no choice." Ron withdrew a stick from behind his back, muttered something and touched Harry on the head with it._

 _The effect was instantaneous. Harry sat straight up and glared at Ron. "What did you do that for? I'd just gotten numb." He raised his hand to signal for more from the bartender, bur Ron grabbed his hand and forced him to listen._

 _"Thought you might like to see what came earlier," Ron said, determined, "from Hedwig."_

 _Harry straightened his glasses and read the message. "What kind of twisted joke is this?"_

 _"It's no joke, Harry. Hedwig's been holding onto it since this morning, waiting for you to come home. I finally convinced her to let me read it."_

 _Harry scanned the words again. Both of them._ Hermione's alive _._

 _"But she's not. She's gone, Ron. I saw her die."_

 _"Did you?" Ron sat down, lowering his voice. "You said you just saw her disappear."_

 _"But I was right across from Voldemort. I heard him. He said_ Avada Kedavra _mere moments before he died. She's dead. As dead as him." Harry pushed back from the table, fury rising in him like a hurricane. "Don't you think I want her to be alive, Ron? Don't you think I did everything in my power to get her back? I begged McGonagall on my knees for the time-turner. I begged until I was hoarse, but she wouldn't let me go back. Wouldn't let me undo the one thing that could have kept her alive._

 _"I would give all that I have, Ron, all that I am to have her walk through that door and tell me she was okay, that she'd looked up some obscure book and figured out how to undo it. But she's gone," Harry's voice cracked. "She's gone."_

 _The fury died down, and Harry lost all momentum. He reclaimed his chair and put his head back on his arms._

 _"Just think about this, Harry, before you return to your drink. Your parents died, but didn't disappear. Neither did Cedric, or anyone else you've seen that curse performed on. If she's really dead, Harry, then where's her body?"_

 _Jane turned to the dream Harry, but he was gone. With a snap, so was the dream._

She sat up in bed and rubbed a hand across her face. And she'd thought the cave dream was disturbing. Dutifully, she took up the notepad by the bed and wrote down what she could remember. One of these days, she'd find the time to read all that she'd written down.

Across town, Harry bolted from his bed like he'd been shot from a cannon. "Bloody hell," he muttered, then dropped his voice so as not to awaken Ron. How had he joined Hermione in sleep? He was miles from her, with no spell cast, yet their dreams had meshed again.

For reasons he couldn't place, he had shown her the beginning of his quest to find her. The vague, anonymous letter that had sown the seeds of hope in his miserable life and had given him a small raft to cling to in the storm of his grief.

*^*^*^*

The next morning, Jane awoke dazed. At first, she couldn't remember why. Then the dream came back to her. Last night, she'd thought that what she'd seen had really happened. But in the light of day, she realized that was nonsense. She'd obviously taken pieces from her conversations with Harry and built a dream around them. "I ought to sell tickets to these things," she muttered.

Jane tossed the covers aside, glanced briefly at the notepad by the bed, but ignored it. She didn't have time to rehash her dreams this morning.

She purposely detoured through the park on the way to the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry. But he wasn't on their bench. Neither was he at the entrance. "Silly girl," she said under her breath.

Of course, he showed up at the precise moment she'd decided she wouldn't be seeing him that day. "Excuse me," he said softly, gaining her attention. Mariah's head whipped up, but Jane was so focused on Harry, she didn't notice.

"Can I help you?" she answered in the same low voice. It was foolish of her heart to start beating faster just because he stood there, but it did anyway.

"I'd ask you to have lunch with me," he smiled across the desk, "but I'm horribly afraid you'll take off running."

"If I guarantee I won't, will you ask?" The increase in her pulse rate had Jane nearly giddy. She'd never flirted before. It felt wonderful.

"Let's give it a try, shall we? Jane, are you free for lunch?" Harry knew she'd been teasing him, but his heart was in his throat anyway as he waited for her answer.

"I certainly am," she laughed. "I'll meet you over at the park at noon." Jane glanced around to introduce Harry to Mariah, but her best friend had gone off someplace. Noticing her boss headed for the circulation desk, Jane ushered Harry away with a slight blush to her cheeks.

He was sitting on their bench when she found him, but he wasn't alone.

"Jane," Harry stood as she approached, "this is my friend Ron."

Jane smiled and extended her hand. "Ah, so this is the other partner in crime. Harry told me a little of your school day adventures last night at dinner." Ron seemed to shoot Harry a worried glance, but recovered quickly and nodded.

"Yeah," he said in a rough voice. "We were usually up to no good, the three of us." A strange something came over his face just then and he took a step backwards. "I'll be off. Enjoy your lunch."

"Did I say something wrong?" Jane asked as Ron did everything but run from the two of them.

"Not at all," Harry appeased breaking out the sandwiches he'd bought at a nearby deli.

Ron watched from a nearby hedge. He knew he shouldn't but couldn't seem to stop himself. It was almost like going back it time, when seeing Harry and Hermione with their heads together was commonplace. It had taken all of his reserve not to enfold her in his arms when he'd taken her hand.

When he'd awakened on that cave floor to find You-Know-Who dead on the floor, Ron had felt a momentary exhilaration. Then he saw Harry huddled in a corner, muttering "she's dead" over and over again and his world had plummeted. It had been hard to watch his best friend drink his life away, but Ron had remained by his side, waiting to help Harry pick up the pieces of his life and move on. And then they'd received the note. And they'd begun to hope.

Watching them laugh together, Ron's heart warmed and his face brightened. Harry had told him of his true feelings for Hermione once he'd surfaced from his drunken existence. Of the scene that had caused her fall down the stairs. Ron was infuriated. Hermione had been as close to him as his own sister, and he'd wanted to throttle Harry for botching it so badly and spooking her.

Now, that all seemed academic. Harry and Hermione had found each other. It was only a matter of time before she recovered her memories and life was back on course again.

Ron tensed as a sniff sounded nearby. Not sure what else to do, he investigated the surrounding bushes. About twenty feet from him, Ron found a woman watching them the way he had been moments before.

She was about his age, a head shorter that him, with straight black hair that ended in a razor sharp line at her shoulders.

"Interesting view," Ron called attention to himself. The woman jumped. He nearly sprung the wand from his sleeve but she ran off before he could.

When he turned back, he saw Harry stand and take Hermione's hand. As he pulled her to standing, he must have tugged too hard because she stumbled into him. An alarmed look creased her face and she ran from him towards the library. The deaf could have heard her screams of "No" as she fled.

"What happened?" Ron asked as he reached Harry.

"I don't know. Everything was going well until I helped her to her feet. Something isn't right, Ron. That's the second time she's run screaming after I touched her."


	4. Chapter 4

Not two minutes after reaching the library steps, Mariah heard Jane screaming "No!" and turned to watch her run flat out towards where she stood. Still out of breath herself after the close call with Ron, Mariah could do no more than stand aside as Jane rushed past her. She called out, but Jane didn't hear her. And, based on the glimpse she'd gotten of Jane's face, she decided to give her some time alone.

She took a few steps into the library's entry area when she heard another person running up behind her. Turning swiftly and holding out an arm, Mariah effectively blocked him. "Whoa, big fella."

"Pardon me," the man panted. It wasn't until she heard the accent that she realized who she was restraining. "But did you seen a young woman run through here just now?"

Mariah continued to stare. Her brain was trying to remember what it had been about to say, but the proximity of this man was blurring the connections. She remembered Jane and shook the confusion from her head. Unfortunately, the confusion turned into nervous quivers in her stomach. "Yes, I did, and no, I'm not going to tell you where she went."

"But..."

"Not on your life. And no sob story you give me is gonna change my mind. So unless you're looking for a book, the door is about twenty paces behind you." In a show of composure she didn't feel, Mariah walked towards the circulation desk and sat down.

The nervous quiver in her stomach became a downright earthquake when Harry joined Ron and they both faced her. "Is she here?"

"Yeah, but this one won't tell me where she is."

When they were right in front of her, Mariah sat up pencil straight and hardened her resolve to give Jane the space she obviously needed. "Look," she began.

"You're Mariah, aren't you?"

"Yes." Taken aback at the direct question, she warily drew the one syllable into three.

"My name is Harry. Last night at dinner, Jane told me what a wonderful friend she has in you. I know about her history, and I don't want to upset her further. I just need to know if she's okay."

Mariah sat there undecided. But Harry's voice, full of worry, tugged at her heartstrings. "I'll go and check on her, provided you two stay here and don't try and follow me. This is the second time in as many days that she's hidden out in the basement, and I'll admit to being a little worried myself." Mariah stood and walked towards the stairs, then turned. "Harry, Ron, if I even suspect you're following me, I'll have the police on you like white on rice."

Satisfied that they'd do as she asked, Mariah continued to the stairs.

It wasn't until she'd left them that Ron turned to Harry and asked, "Did you tell her my name?"

*^*^*^*^

"Jane?"

Jane slapped her hand over her mouth to quiet the sobs. She didn't want Mariah to see her like this.

"Janey? I know you're down here, so come out, come out wherever you are." Mariah found her a second later and frowned when she saw Jane's tear streaked face. "Okay, that's it. I've been holding my tongue for days now, and you are going to tell me exactly what's going on. And don't say it's the dreams, or that you're not sleeping, because I'm not buying that load of crap anymore."

Struggling to her feet, Jane put on her bravest face and hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She opened her mouth to dispute her friend's claims, but when Mariah raised a single eyebrow, Jane reconsidered.

"I don't know what's happening," she said truthfully.

Mariah hooked an arm around Jane's waist and led her to the top of the stairs. Catching the eye of the head librarian and giving her a telling glance, Mariah steered Jane towards a conference room. She also held up a warning hand to Harry and Ron, who appeared to be moving towards them. Luckily, Jane didn't notice them.

Once Jane was settled in a chair with a cup of water in front of her, Mariah sat back, crossed her arms and waited. "Talk."

"I don't know what to say, Mariah. Other than I think I'm losing my mind." When Mariah didnt respond, Jane drew in a deep breath and continued. "It started with the dreams. They're a little different than before, now I am seeing a man in them. But for some reason, my subconscious has superimposed Harry as that man."

Mariah's eyes widened. Jane wondered at her friend's odd look, but dismissed it. She'd tried to introduce the two, but Mariah always seemed to vanish when Harry was around. That meant Mariah probably had no idea who she was talking about.

"He came into the library a few days ago, and we went to dinner last night and had lunch together just now," Jane summarized.

"Sounds lovely, so what's with the basement dwelling routine?"

"It's strange, and a little scary," Jane's voice trembled. "But every time he touches me I feel...."

"Happy? Content? What?"

"Panic. Heart stopping, run-for-your-life panic."

Mariah's face scrunched up. "That doesn't make any sense," she muttered.

"What?" Jane wasn't sure she'd heard her correctly. Of course it didn't make any sense.

"Nothing. Have you told Harry about this?"

"I couldn't. It'd be too embarrassing. Oh God, and the way I ran off screaming...you'd think he pulled a knife on me or something."

"I get the feeling there's more to this than you're telling me," Mariah pressed gently.

Staring at a point just beyond the cup of water, Jane muttered, "Things are moving by themselves."

"What?" Mariah asked.

Jane wasn't sure whether she hadn't heard her or hadn't believed her. "Things are moving around by themselves. I look at a book, and it flies into my hand. I wonder where my tea is, and it moves three feet towards me. Sometimes I've muttered nonsense words, sometimes I haven't." Jane leaned forward and rested her head on crossed arms. Just saying that out loud had taken weight from her shoulders but at the same time it had sent apprehension down her spine. She had the feeling that she'd told a secret she wasn't supposed to tell. "And then there's the mark on my back."

"What mark on your back?"

Jane showed her and sat back down heavily. "Dr. Ramsey said it was there when he first found me, and now it's returned."

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes, although I wouldn't call it painful. More like an ache." Unconsciously, Jane placed a hand over it and rubbed.

While Mariah seemed stunned speechless by all she'd heard, she hadn't tried to come up with rationalizations. She'd taken it all at face value. That was the measure of true friendship, Jane smiled to herself.

"Right now," Mariah said softly, "I think you need to go home. Take a hot bath or a nap and collect yourself. Then I think you need to talk to Harry."

Jane thought about protesting but didn't. She agreed about the bath part, and she'd think about talking to Harry. "But work...."

Mariah interrupted. "I'll clear things with Mrs. Iverson. You haven't taken any sick leave or even a vacation in the year you've worked here. Take some time, get things straightened out. Your job will be here when you're ready."

More than a little worried, Mariah watched Jane leave the library, told their boss what was going on, then walked towards Ron and Harry. _And now for the hard part_ , she thought.

^*^*^*^*

"Is she all right?" Harry asked the moment Mariah reached them.

Mariah didn't say anything, instead motioning them into a study room. It was one of the few places in the library where they could talk, but not be overheard.

"She's fine, Harry. I sent her home to rest. She's been dealing with a lot lately." She sat and indicated that they should as well.

"How did you know my name?" Ron asked sharply, still standing.

She sighed. This was the moment she'd both dreaded and anticipated since she'd first heard Jane say "Mione". "I recognized you right off. After all, what young witch hasn't heard the stories of Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger?"

Her statement was met with a near deafening silence.

"You're a witch?" Ron was the first to break it.

"Yes. American, but a witch."

"How the bloody hell did you get to be best friends with Hermione?" Ron demanded, growing more suspicious by the moment.

"I was visiting my parents last year and was walking through the monuments downtown. Imagine my surprise, when I glance over at the Library of Congress steps and see Hermione Granger sitting there...three years after she died. I'd seen her face too many times in news accounts not to recognize her immediately. At first, I was too shocked to do anything more than stare. Then my brain kicked in, and I followed her home, got her name from the mailbox and found out where she worked. I thought it must be some kind of trick or her double, especially since she didn't have an accent. I got the job at the library to try and figure out what was going on. But as we became friends, I realized that there was no trick. She was Hermione Granger, she just didn't know it."

"Then why didn't you tell us?" Ron snapped viciously. "Why did you let us go on believing she was dead?"

"She did tell us, Ron," Harry said quietly. "Mariah sent the message."

That seemed to anger Ron even further. "And thanks loads for that detailed note, Mariah. Very helpful and informative."

"Ron," Harry cautioned, but it was no use. Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair and Harry knew holding him back was pretty useless.

"What, Harry? Our best friend is here, and all this one," he indicated Mariah with a terse wave of his hand, "can think to send us is 'Hermione's alive'. Not alive and well in bloody America. Not contact me at this address, and I'll tell you what I know. Just two damn words that had us chasing our tails for nearly a year. I, for one, would like to know the rationale behind that brilliant move."

"You have to understand. I spent my teen years poring over newspaper accounts about the three of you. The Triwizard Tournament your fourth year, the Cross-Atlantic Quidditch Finals fifth year, Voldemort's death seventh year. And all the little blurbs that would appear every now and then. You three were like rock stars to me. I clipped every story and pressed them in a book. As it was, it took me nearly a week to find the courage to send that note. I was positive wizards as powerful as you would be able to trace it back to me. I spent a month waiting for you to show up on my doorstep...about as mad as you are now."

"And what, when we didn't, you just forgot all about it? Decided you'd given it your best shot and the hell with it?"

"No. By that time, I'd gotten to know Jane --"

"Hermione," Ron hissed.

"I know her as Jane, Ron. Anyway, we'd become good friends. She told me about the nightmares she'd first had. About her fears and doubts. And I began to think that maybe she didn't want to be found. I respected that."

"Thank you, Mariah," Harry smiled at her. "I'm glad she's had such a close friend. I appreciate all your help."

"Help?" sputtered Ron.

"You didn't just send the note, did you, Mariah?" Harry looked up at her, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"No, I didn't." Mariah sighed and plunged on. Might as well spill the whole thing. "About two weeks ago, Jane came in looking like she'd been hit by a truck. I finally got her to admit the nightmares had come back. When she told me, I realized what she was dreaming about and knew her memories were trying to break through. I also knew that if that happened, she'd need you here. So I stayed at her house one night and placed a charm on her bed so that she'd find you in her sleep, where she could handle it."

Mariah bit her lip at the scrutiny from Ron and the gratitude from Harry. It was hard to keep the other things from them...Jane's panic attacks, the mark on her back, but she knew those were not her secrets to tell. She'd meddled enough. She just hoped that they could all forgive her once it was all said and done.

"Again, Mariah, thank you. If you'll excuse me, I need to walk a bit. Get some air," Harry pushed his chair back and left them quietly. Which left she and Ron alone together. Tranquilizers couldn't have stopped the pounding of her heart.

"Ron, I...."

"Save it." He rose to stalk after Harry, but she placed a hand on his sleeve.

"I am sorry I couldn't do more, but I was afraid."

"Of what? Us? We are her best friends."

"Put yourself in my shoes, Ron. I'd idolized you...all of you for years. And one of my heroes was suddenly my friend. I was twenty years old and fresh out of school. I didn't know which was the right course to take, so I went with instinct."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. The immensity of what she'd done had just occurred to him. She hadn't just befriended Hermione, she'd lived and worked with her. As a Muggle...for a year. A part of him wondered if he'd have done the same.

"I still don't get why you were so frightened of us," he said softly, finally sitting down. He was having trouble with the rock star analogy. "I mean, we're just a witch and two wizards."

"Who had been fighting Voldemort off and on for seven years and were finally able to defeat him. Just the three of you, before you'd even graduated. It's a little daunting just to be in the same room as you," Mariah finished on a breathless sigh.

"Two of us, actually. Hermione wasn't there. She was still in the hospital wing when we found him. By the time she arrived, I found out later, the battle was just about over and he was just about dead."

"Just about?" Mariah asked.

"Apparently he still had some energy left. Enough to perform AK on Hermione. _Avada Kedavra_ ," Ron clarified when her brows creased. He sometimes forgot that most witches and wizards didn't use slang for the forbidden curses as they did. "When I woke up, Harry was huddled in a corner muttering 'she's dead' over and over. It wasn't until I got your message that I even considered she was still alive. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. People die when hit with that curse, they don't disappear. The only thing we could figure is that You-Know-Who didn't have enough power behind the curse to kill her, only to send her away."

Their eyes met in the silence of the room. Ron watched a myriad of emotions cross her face until she blushed and turned away. Blushed? He nearly shook his head. Women blushed around Harry, not him.

"I have a question," Mariah said timidly.

"What is it?"

"Did you really fly a car to school one year?"

Ron laughed, long and loud. And then he smiled, really smiled at her. Mariah thought her heart was going to leap from her chest. Ron told her the true tale of their second year trip to Hogwarts, complete with sarcastic side comments about Harry. He was just finishing, doing a decent impression of his mother's howler, when a ringing phone interrupted them.

Mariah unclipped the phone. Her good humor over Ron's story faded abruptly. "Jane? What is it? I'll be right there."

Ron stood and walked over to her. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She's crying, sounds scared. I need to get over there. You may want to find Harry. I have a sinking feeling he may have something to do with this. She sounds panicked again."

"Panicked?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. I didn't tell Harry because I didn't think he needed any more good news. Whenever he touches her, she is overcome with panic."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ron sighed.

"Exactly what I said," Mariah replied and smiled even wider when Ron joined her. She still couldn't take in that she was sitting here talking to Ron. Ron Weasley. The man who's pictures she had all over her scrapbook. The boy she'd had a crush on since she was fourteen.

"Or maybe it does," Ron muttered and Mariah's eyes widened. "Right before we met...him...in the cave, Hermione had an accident. Fell down the stairs. Harry told me what preceded it, and it sounds like she was having panic attacks around him even then. I just wish I could perform a Memory Spell on her and help her past this."

"You can't," Mariah sighed. "It's too dangerous. If there's a reason she's keeping herself from remembering, then we have to respect that. She'll remember when she's ready."

"I know. But knowing doesn't make it any easier."

"I've got to get over there. It's not a long drive, but I may hit traffic."

"Why not just Apparate?" Ron asked, curious.

"Things are different here," Mariah explained. "The Muggles are too suspicious of everything. Come with me, and I'll fill you in on the way." Mariah walked to the door and her pulse skipped when he placed a hand to the small of her back as he held the door for her.

*^*^*^*^

They were still talking over the differences between American and British Muggle life when they reached Jane's apartment building. Harry was sitting on the front steps.

"Harry?" they said in unison.

"You'd better go to her, Mariah," Harry sounded miserable. He waited until she'd entered the building and spoke to her retreating back. "Take care of her for me. It was wonderful meeting you."

"Harry?" Ron was stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm going back to England...tonight." Harry stood and walked away without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

When Mariah reached Jane's apartment, she found her pacing. Or, more to the point, prowling like a tiger in a cage.

"Janey?" Mariah said softly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jane hitched, her voice carrying the shadow of unspent tears.

"You sounded a little panicked on the phone."

"I was. But I'm fine now." She sat on the couch and then popped back up again. "I just overreacted. Harry was here, but he's gone now."

"What happened?"

Jane stopped moving and stared at Mariah. What happened? A lunatic had entered her apartment in the guise of a slightly shy Englishman.

"Harry told me he's known me since I was eleven."

Just saying it out loud had the effect of deflating Jane like a balloon. Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor.

"Tell me, Jane," Mariah urged joining her on the floor. And Jane told her.

 _A knock at the door sounded and Jane nearly jumped from her skin. She'd spent an hour in the bathtub, but was still feeling edgy after the panic attack in the park. She opened the door a crack to see Harry standing there._

 _"Harry?"_

 _"Jane. Sorry to arrive unannounced and uninvited, but I was worried about you after our lunch in the park this afternoon. I wanted to make sure you were all right."_

 _His concern gave Jane a warm feeling. She smiled and moved aside to let him in. She wondered for a moment about how he'd found out where she lived, but as she was listed in the phone directory, Jane let it go. Any idiot with a map could find her._

 _"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked as he took a seat on the couch. He looked around her living room with an oddly wistful expression._

 _"Thank you, no. I'm fine."_

 _"I wanted to apologize for running off this afternoon. I'm not sure why I did. My only excuse is that I've been feeling a little off center lately. Mariah thinks I'm trying to remember my past."_

 _"That's a good thing, isn't it?"_

 _"Not especially." Jane noticed Harry's frown but didn't comment on it. "The doctor told me that I may be repressing my memories because of some tragic or disturbing event. And if that is the case, I don't want to remember it. Everything I've read about amnesia says that when the patient recalls the event, it's like living it over again. If whatever happened was bad enough to wipe away my memories, I'm just as well leaving it in the past."_

 _"But you could remember who you were," Harry prodded._

 _"I don't care who I was. I'm happy with who I am now." Jane crossed her arms at her chest. If she sounded defensive, she didn't care._

 _"Doesn't it bother you? What if you have a family? Friends? People who miss you and love you?"_

 _"It's been four years, Harry. Where the hell have they been? Where were they when I first disappeared? If I have family and friends like that, you'd think they'd have at least filed a missing person's report. They obviously didn't care enough to find me, so I don't care enough to remember them."_

 _Harry ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, revealing the scar that marred his pale forehead. His fingers brushed the scar. She gasped and stood suddenly._

 _"Get out," she said softly to him._

 _"What?" Harry sounded stunned._

 _"I mean it. Get out of my apartment. Now." Panic began racing through her again. But it didn't feel the same as when he touched her. This was more like fear._

 _"What's wrong, Jane?"_

 _"Nothing's wrong. I just want you to leave. I'm tired."_

 _"Don't you tell me nothing's wrong," Harry sounded exasperated. "I know that look on your face. Talk to me--"_

 _"How can you decipher a look on my face, Harry? You just met me a few days ago," Jane matched his exasperated tone._

 _"No." Harry said, frustrated. He crossed to where she stood and took her face in his hands. "I've known you since you were eleven years old. I know every expression you have, and what they mean." As he leaned his face towards hers, she thought she heard him mutter, "I swear, I've loved you that long."_

 _But before she could comment on any of that, Harry's lips were on hers. Gentle yet strong. Tentative but sure. And the answering terror that swam through her veins was too much. She pushed at his chest hard until he was away from her._

 _"Get out," she said in a near whisper._

 _And this time he did._

"I called you right after he left," Jane finished.

"Wow," Mariah breathed. "It makes sense, though, Jane. Maybe he does know you. It would explain seeing him in your dreams, at the very least."

"No," Jane's voice came as from a great distance. There was a ringing in her ears. She shook her head to dislodge it. Instead, the ringing grew louder.

"Try. Jane, try and remember. You have to."

"No I don't have to remember," Jane slammed her hand on the floor. "And I won't." She would have said more, but the shattering of glassware in the kitchen interrupted her.

Mariah glanced into the kitchen at the noise. When she turned back to Jane, it was to find her lying on the floor in a heap.

^*^*^*^*^

Ron gazed up at the stars, occasionally shooting glances at the illuminated windows above him. He told himself he was staying to make sure Hermione was okay...that Mariah had nothing to do with it. But he'd never lied to himself before, why start now?

He knew he ought to head to the hotel, try and convince Harry to stay, try and find out what had happened. Instinct had him remaining where he was.

Moments later, he saw Mariah through the glass doors. She flew out of the building, panting and looking around desperately.

"Ron," she gasped for breath. "Come upstairs with me. Something's wrong."

Mariah led him to the apartment. Ron didn't even try to cover his astonishment...not only at Hermione lying motionless on the floor, but also at her choice in furnishings.

"It's the Gryffindor common room," Ron said in soft awe. But as he knelt next to Hermione, all thoughts of interior decorating fled.

"She was telling me what happened with Harry, and she collapsed when I pressed her to remember her past. God, I'm such an idiot. I knew it was dangerous. I knew she wasn't ready. But I pushed on anyway." Mariah swiped an angry hand at the tears spilling over her lashes.

"It's not your fault, Mariah," Ron took her hand gently. "How long ago did she faint?"

"Five minutes or so. I've been trying to revive her, but nothing works. I even poured vinegar on a towel and waved it under her nose. She didn't even flinch. I don't think it's just a faint, Ron." Mariah sounded truly scared, and Ron was amazed at his instinct to comfort her. It wasn't like he'd lived as a monk, but neither was he known as the world's most sensitive man.

Disregarding those thoughts in favor of the situation at hand, Ron gave Mariah's hand a hard squeeze before letting it go.

"I've got to call her doctor," Mariah's said, her stomach clenching. No matter what Ron had said, she still felt responsible. "I think his phone number is in her day planner."

Mariah found the number and called it. "He's calling for an ambulance now. He'll meet us at the emergency room."

"Will you be all right by yourself until it gets here?" Ron asked. Mariah nodded yes, and Ron moved closer to her. "I need to tell Harry what's going on. I'll meet you at the hospital once I talk to him. Try not to worry." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smiled slightly. Then, with a whispered swish, Ron was gone. Mariah sat on the floor, brushing Jane's hair away from her forehead and murmuring apologies as she waited for the paramedics.

*^*^*^*^*

Harry snapped the suitcase shut and sat on the bed next to it. He couldn't believe he'd come all this way and had found Hermione, only to leave her right where she was. A stronger man would have been grateful that she was alive and happy. Unfortunately, he wasn't strong. He was selfish. He wanted it all.

But he'd learned early in his life that what you want isn't always what's best for you. So he'd go on as he had before, minus the bottle and minus Hermione. A cold ache settled into his chest, and he did his best to ignore it. Maybe someday she'd remember....

"Bloody hell," he muttered, grasping the handle of his suitcase and preparing to Apparate himself back to England. Before he could, Ron appeared.

"Wait!" he bellowed. "You can't go."

"Yes I can, Ron. I have to. There's no point in staying. Hermione refuses to remember me. To top that off, when I touch her she gets hysterical. I can't take it anymore. It's breaking me in two." Spent, Harry sat heavily on the bed and stared at the floor.

"I know." Harry's head shot up, but Ron continued. "I watched you fall in love with her, then I watched you bury her, Harry. Do you think I don't know how much this hurts you? And just for your information, my friend, you're not the only one she's refusing to remember. But we don't have time to go into all of this right now. While Mariah was talking to Hermione, she collapsed."

"Mariah collapsed?"

"No. Hermione did. Mariah thought it was a faint, but she won't wake up. She's on the way to the hospital right now. I told Mariah I'd let you know what was going on and then meet her there. She's blaming herself for the collapse because she was trying to get Hermione to remember. So the decision is yours. Are you coming with me or going back home?"

Harry didn't respond. He stood up, walked past his suitcase, opened the door to the hotel room and looked back at Ron. "Let's go."

^*^*^*^

They arrived at the hospital half an hour later and found Mariah sitting in the ER's waiting room. Ron called to her as they approached. Still feeling a little shaky, she walked straight into Ron's arms and began to cry.

Harry watched his best friend quietly. Ron wasn't very comfortable with the softer emotions of women. He often said that he'd rather face a room full of spiders than offer comfort to a crying woman. Obviously, he'd gotten over that. Eyes closed, he laid his cheek on top of her head and ran his hands over her back until her tears ebbed.

"Sorry," Mariah stepped back hastily, wiping the tears away. "I'm usually more put together than this."

"Is there any news?" Harry asked.

"No good news. She's still unconscious. They've moved her upstairs to intensive care. I was waiting for you to get here before I went up. There isn't a whole lot we can do, though. Only the immediate family is allowed to visit."

"We are as close as family," Ron said tersely.

"Not good enough. And we can't lie. Dr. Ramsey's the one that found her four years ago. He knows she has no family."

"But we can still be there for her," Harry said, moving towards the elevators. "Whether she knows it or not."

They arrived on the fourth floor to find a deserted waiting area with uncomfortable couches and muted gray walls. Not exactly a cheery décor, he thought, but figured that most people sitting here weren't feeling very cheery anyway.

As they sat, the three of them huddled together, Ron took Mariah's hand and began massaging the back of it with his thumb.

"The doctor couldn't give you a hint about what's going on?" Harry pressed.

"All he told me was that they were moving her up here for monitoring and tests."

"Wish you'd packed the cloak, Harry," said Ron, an odd twinkle in his eye. "Invisibility cloak," he explained to Mariah.

"Excuse me?" a voice came from behind them. They stood at the same time and turned to face Dr. Ramsey.

"Is there any word?" Mariah asked eagerly.

"No change," he said without inflection. "Did I hear someone say 'Harry'?"

"Yes," Harry spoke up. "I'm Harry Potter." He extended his hand and the doctor took it. His eyes riveted on Harry's forehead and widened.

"I wonder if you'd come with me for a moment." The doctor walked off without waiting for an answer. With a confused shrug for Ron and Mariah, Harry followed.

"This is going to sound a little strange," Ramsey began when Harry caught up with him. "Jane's case is a rather confusing one. I'm going to skirt some confidentiality issues here, but I feel it is in my patient's best interest that I do so. Her current state is almost exactly the one we found her in four years ago. She's nearly catatonic. So far, she hasn't spoken. But the last time, she did. She said one word, over and over. Harry."

It took a few moments for that to sink in. Harry nearly smiled in spite of the seriousness of Hermione's condition.

"We weren't sure back then if she was uttering a name or a follicular condition. You know, h-a-i-r-y. She also has a rather interesting mark on her back. One you seem to share. Mariah told me that you and she recently met, but I can't ignore the connections. Is there any way that you know who that young woman is?"

Harry was stunned. He didn't know that Hermione had a lightning bolt on her back. Then he remembered brushing his hair from his face at her apartment. And seconds later, she'd demanded that he leave.

"Yes, I do." Harry left it at that. He had confidentiality issues he couldn't breach.

"Would you go in and talk to her? I'm not even sure she'll hear you, but it might help. I get the feeling that she is on the verge of total recall and being with someone from her past may help her."

"Lead the way."

Harry stood a little back from Dr. Ramsey as he pushed open the door to Hermione's room. With supreme effort, he got his feet moving towards her bedside. She was very pale, her hair lying in wild disarray across the pillows and wires connecting her to various machines.

He pulled a chair to her bedside and grasped her hand. Harry harbored a secret hope that contact with him would cause the panic to well up again and awaken her. But she didn't stir, remaining as still as death.

Time ceased to have any real meaning as he sat by her side, gripping her hand until his own was numb. Lulled by the steady beeping of the monitors, emotional exhaustion claimed him, and he laid his head on their joined hands.

 _A soft murmur made him raise his head, and he saw Hermione standing at the foot of the bed. He leapt to his feet excitedly before noticing that she was also still lying on the bed. And he was still sitting next to it._

 _"Hermione?" he asked, puzzled._

 _"Harry?" she asked...stunned, tears coursing down her face in streams. She said nothing more, she just walked towards him and straight into his arms. He sighed and wrapped his arms tight around her. It didn't matter that they were dreaming. It didn’t matter that she could wake up and remember nothing. It only mattered that he was holding her._

 _"I've missed you. More than I can say." He kissed the top of her head. "Does this mean you remember me now?" Harry pulled back enough to indicate the other Hermione lying motionless on the bed, Harry's hand in hers._

 _"I do. She's not ready yet," Hermione said softly. "I guess she's become so used to seeing you in sleep that she's letting me in now."_

 _"What do you mean, letting you in? You're speaking as if you're different people. Help me understand this, Mione."_

 _"I always loved when you called me that, Harry. You were the only one that ever used a nickname besides know-it-all." She paused and gazed into his face, her own blank. "And we are two different people. I'm Hermione Granger, she's Jane Doe. She's remembering bits and pieces, but she's not ready for the whole. It's all in her hands...if she wakes up."_

 _Harry was speechless. What the hell did Hermione mean, if she woke up?_

 _"Is there a chance --" he trailed off._

 _"There's always a chance." Harry didn't like the cryptic sound of that. But now that he had Hermione in front of him, knowing who he was, he wasn't about to waste the opportunity._

 _"I need to know, Hermione. I need to know what happened to you. Why were you so afraid of me? Why did you keep pushing me away? What happened in the ca--"_

 _She took several steps backwards, out of his embrace. "Don't ask about that. I don't know anything about that." Hermione faced him, a sad sort of smile turning her lips. "And you're wrong. I wasn't_ afraid _of you. I was downright terrified."_

 _"Why?"_

 _Hermione closed her eyes and reached a hand up to place it near his heart. Harry clasped it and pulled her towards him again. He closed his eyes as well and felt a peace he hadn't felt in a long while. But then Hermione whispered "look"._

 _His eyes snapped open._

 _He and Hermione were in Professor Trelawney's classroom. A younger Hermione was sitting in front of the Divination teacher._

 _"But you hated her, Hermione, thought she was a fraud." Harry whispered. "Why would you go to her?"_

 _"I was seventeen, Harry. Scared out of my mind that I, along with one or both of my best friends, was about to come face to face with pure evil at its strongest. I remembered that she'd made a prediction to you that came true. I guess I was hoping she'd do the same thing again. Top that off, one of those aforementioned best friends was figuring rather prominently in my dreams. And not always in connection with an upcoming battle."_

 _"Really?" Harry grinned. "Anyone I know?"_

 _"Shhh," she hissed, pointing at the younger version. "Listen."_

 _"Well, thank you for your time anyway, Professor." Younger Hermione stood and turned to leave, a look of disgust on her face. Back turned, she didn't see Trelawney's eyes roll back in her head._

 _"Beware."_

 _Younger Hermione stopped and turned back around, bag falling from her shoulder as she noticed the look on Trelawney's face. "What?"_

 _"Beware the battle, my dear. It is coming. And it will mean the end of all you know. I see three figures at the mouth of a cave. Two are joined, by the hand and by the heart. This joining will spell death and destruction--"_

 _"Stop it!" Younger Hermione screamed, and then ran from the room._

 _Harry blinked rapidly several times at the tears that had pooled in his eyes. When he focused again, they were back in the hospital room. He gripped Hermione's hand tighter. But she wasn't looking at him, she was focused on Jane._

 _Harry tugged gently on Hermione's hand to pull her attention back to him. "And that's why you kept pushing me away. You were afraid that if we crossed the barrier of friendship..."_

 _"It would mean your death, yes. A remnant of that fear still resides in Jane. Whenever you touch her." Hermione cocked her head to the side and released his hand. "I have to go. She's waking up." She stared walking away from him, but Harry called after her._

 _"Wait! Will she remember me?"_

 _"I don't know," came a distant reply._

 _"I love you, Mione. Remember that." Harry yelled as the misty form of Hermione evaporated. He wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or not, but he swore he'd heard a response. And that response was enough to give him hope._

The hand he held squeezed then released. He sat up quickly, wincing at his sore back. Hermione's eyes were open, and she was staring at him blankly. "Did you say something?" she croaked, voice dry from lack of use.

"No. Are you okay?"

"I feel strange. What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"

"First things first," Harry's heart felt like it had lodged in his throat. "Does the name Hermione mean anything to you?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Does the name Hermione mean anything to you?_

The question hung in the air above them. Harry waited with his heart in his throat. Hermione just stared at him. The moment stretched for what seemed an eternity until a smile creased the corners of her mouth.

"Only in the way the name Harry means something to you," she said and immediately cleared her dry throat.

Harry said nothing. He was too stunned to believe it.

"Your name's Harry and mine's Hermione." She smiled deeper now as realization dawned on his face.

Before she could catch her breath, she was in his arms. He felt tears of joy pricking his eyelids. He could hear her laugh, feel the vibration of it. It was Hermione, and she was home. Arms tightening around her, Harry felt Hermione wince slightly and he loosened his hold.

"I'm crushing you," Harry breathed into her hair.

"Who cares?" Hermione responded but pulled back a little.

She reached up and removed his glasses, studying him...the green of his eyes, the slightly older face, the joy radiating from every inch of him. Then she placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled his mouth to hers.

A sense of completion, of rightness settled over him as she wound her arms around his neck and began running her fingers through his hair. Tentatively, he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, then plunged inside. A moan sounded. He moved his hands to cup her face as her tongue did a little plunging of its own.

"Ahem." They broke apart like teenagers caught in a parked car. Harry blushing furiously, Hermione clutching a hand to her pounding heart. "Sorry to interrupt, but the heart monitors at the nurses station were spiking and I promised I'd check. How are you feeling, Jane?"

"It's Hermione, Dr. Ramsey. Hermione Granger," she gushed. "I remember. Everything. My name, my childhood. My life."

Ramsey looked shocked for a moment and then broke into laughter. He looked over at Harry and offered his hand. "Guess it worked, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned back. After another kiss, a more sedate one in deference to the doctor, Harry excused himself while Ramsey examined Hermione. He walked back to the waiting area and found Ron and Mariah sitting close together, Ron's arm around Mariah's shoulder.

"Getting comfortable, Ron?" Harry quipped, not surprised when Ron dropped his arm and jumped to his feet.

"Harry. Er...what happened? You've been gone nearly two hours."

"She remembers, Ron. Everything. While I was sitting with her, I nodded off. We met in her dreams again. But this time it was Hermione, not Jane. When she woke up, her memory had returned." Harry wasn't surprised to see a smile bloom on Ron's face, but was a little shocked at Mariah's frown.

"Mariah, what is it?" said Ron, noticing it as well.

"Does she remember her life as Jane, too?"

"I assume so, Mariah." Harry slipped an arm around Mariah's shoulders and Ron took her hand as they walked towards the room. "Let's find out, shall we?"

They met Dr. Ramsey in the hallway outside Hermione's room. "Well?" Harry asked.

"I can't explain it, but she's in perfect health. Most of her memories are intact now, so I guess my work is done. I'd like to keep her overnight, but she's declining that...adamantly. If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll get her discharge papers in order."

"A moment, doctor," Harry held up a hand. "You said most of her memories?" he looked pointedly at Mariah.

"She still doesn't know how she ended up walking along the side of a highway, or how she got the mark on her back. But apart from that, everything seems normal."

Harry pushed open the door and held it for Mariah.

"Mariah!" Hermione laughed as her friend took a few tentative steps towards her. "I remember everything." Mariah relaxed visibly and threw her arms around Hermione.

"I guess that means I have to start calling you Hermione now," Mariah wiped tears of happiness from her eyes.

"That's right. Jane's just a little too plain for me," she smiled.

They settled into the room, Ron and Mariah dragging chairs to her bedside, Harry taking the same one he'd slept in earlier. He took hold of Hermione's hand, almost afraid to let go for fear she'd disappear again.

"So tell me what's been going on?" Hermione asked Harry and Ron, thirsty for news from the missing years of her life.

Ron and Harry clamored to speak at the same time. After a stern reproach from the intensive care nurse, they quieted down. They both spoke rapidly, filling her in on the past four years.

"You're joking," Hermione gaped at Harry. "You're teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Well, I'm a little better than Lockhart," Harry laughed. "But not much. I'm learning, though."

"But after all you've done, wasn't there anything else you wanted to do?"

"Yeah," his voice lowered, "but after spending years at the bottom of a bottle, not many people were up to hiring me. Dumbledore came to me and offered the job after I'd pulled myself together a bit."

The room fell silent as that news sunk in. Harry noticed the tears and rose to sit next to her. "What is it?"

"I've missed so much, Harry. I've caused so much pain through my disappearance. When I think of what I said earlier, about not caring about the people I left behind. It wasn't true. My parents, Harry," Hermione whispered. "They think I'm dead, don't they?"

Harry inched closer and leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. "It's okay, Mione. Don't you see, it's all worth it now that we've found you. The grief, the pain, it's like a ghost now. Thin, shadowy and nearly impossible to see." Neither noticed that Ron and Mariah had slipped out of the room.

"I want you to take me home, Harry." She pulled back enough to see his face clearly.

"The doctor is working on that now, I believe."

"No," her lips quivered. "I mean home. To England." Harry sighed and folded her in his arms again, rocking slightly as tears soaked his shoulder. He didn't doubt there would be more emotional battles to overcome as Hermione dealt with the repercussions of the past four years. But he'd be by her side through all of them. They'd faced the worst of it and had come out on the other side together.

*^*^*^*^

"Hermione?" Harry called into the bedroom where she was packing a bag. "Are you sure you're up to Apparating with me? Airplane or floo powder would probably be easier on your system. Not to mention that it borders on illegal since you're not licensed."

There was no answer. "Hermione?"

A pit of dread lodged in Harry's stomach. He walked slowly down the hallway, telling himself that he was imagining things, yet terrified that she wouldn't be there. The thumping in his chest was so rough, he was surprised his ribs weren't cracking.

Hands shaking, he clenched them into fists as he turned the corner into her room. He nearly fell to the floor in relief. She was sitting on her bed looking at a notepad. Knowing her, she was making lists of all the things that needed doing in her absence.

"Mione?"

She turned her head towards him slowly. The terror in her eyes was staggering. He went to her at a dead run. "Mione? Love, what is it?"

"This," she whispered and handed the pad to Harry. It was clearly her handwriting, neat and precise. But the words...apparently, she'd remembered more than she knew.

"What does this mean?" her voice quivered. "I remember trying to write down my dreams after I had them, but I'm sure I'd remember writing this."

"It's the cave, Mione. It's what happened in the cave." But as Harry focused on the words, he realized it was more than just the actual events. It was her feelings, her impressions, Voldemort's words, all of it jumbled up into page after page of recollections.

"What cave, Harry?"

"The last remaining memory you're repressing."

Green lights flashed before Hermione's eyes, and the mark on her back shot pain up her spine. Like a switch being thrown in the recesses of her brain, it all came back. Everything. Her heart pounded painfully and tears spilled from her eyes. "I was there, wasn't I? I went down there after you and Ron. Why, Harry, why did you go without me? Why didn't you push harder? Why didn't you tell me you loved me before it was too late? Damn me for being so sure I knew everything that I denied the one thing that could have saved us years of tragedy."

Harry was stunned. He sat there with the notepad hanging loosely in his fingers, his eyes trained on Hermione.

"What do you remember, love? Tell me, and then we can bury it in the past where it belongs."

"I can't, Harry. It hurts too much."

"You can, Mione. I'm with you. We can face anything together. You know that."

Hermione glanced up at him. His green eyes blazed at her. She felt his love, his protection. And she knew he was right.

 _She woke suddenly in her hospital bed. She'd heard a voice from somewhere, but far as she could tell, she was alone. And then it came again._

 _"Clever girl. I have so much to thank you for."_

 _"Who's there?"_

 _"Who else? The person you fear most. I just wanted to thank you before I go. It's been so enjoyable, our little chess game of advance and retreat. It's almost a pity that it has to end."_

 _Hermione started to shake violently with hatred and fear. "Why do you need to thank me?"_

 _"Because without your insufferable need to know everything, combined with your confidence that you already do, I'd never be able to finish what I've left undone all these years."_

 _"Which is?" Hermione was still looking around the deserted hospital wing, trying to find the voice's origin._

 _"Killing Harry Potter, of course."_

 _Her blood turned to ice as she leapt from the bed. "You'll never kill Harry," Hermione spat. "He's stronger than you. We're stronger than you." But something about Voldemort's confidence began to worry her._

 _"Pity you didn't stick with Divination, my dear Hermione. You missed an important lesson. After all, if you don't hear the entire prediction, how can you be sure you'll interpret it correctly?"_

 _Hermione searched her memory for the encounter with Professor Trelawney. She remembered hearing that if she were joined by hand and heart that it would lead to death and destruction. And the end of all she knew._

 _"That means it wasn't Harry's death she saw..."_

 _"Precisely so. If you and Potter had entered this cave joined in love, I wouldn't have stood a chance. Now, all that has changed. That albatross around my neck stands at the mouth of the cave with his meddling friend. And his heart is in tatters because the girl he loves has pushed him away. I must go, dear. I have an appointment to keep. Thank you again."_

 _Hermione screamed his name, but the voice was gone. She sat on the bed, stunned. If Voldemort was right, then she had spent the past few months keeping her distance from Harry when she should have been doing the opposite. But what of the "end of all she knew"?_

 _She realized too late, that were she and Harry to acknowledge their feelings openly, it would be the end of their childhood friendship. But the beginnings of something far more wonderful. Damn Divination anyway. In her well ordered, detailed existence there just wasn't room for a magic so imprecise. And that could spell Harry's death._

 _"Not if I have anything to say about it," she ground out, leaping from the bed and running flat out for the dormitory. Changing from pajamas into regular clothes and grabbing her wand, Hermione raced for the cave, praying she wasn't too late. Knowing that if she was, her friends' deaths would be on her hands._

 _But she had been too late. As she reached the cave, she'd heard the yelled curses and charms echoing throughout it. Then Ron had screamed and fallen silent. Then Harry. His ragged cry had torn through her soul and filled her with steely determination._

 _She walked straight towards Voldemort who was standing over the bodies of her friends. The motionless bodies. He was panting and sweating, clearly weakened by the encounter with Harry and Ron._

 _"Too late," Voldemort cackled, turning towards her. He staggered a bit, but righted himself._

 _"He's not dead," Hermione asserted. "I'd feel it if he was." But from what she could see, he would be soon._

 _"You're sure?" he said derisively._

 _"As sure as the panic I see in your eyes, Voldemort. And you're wrong. Love holds it's own power, as you well know. His mother's saved him when he was a baby, and mine will save him now."_

 _"A love unspoken, Hermione? What power does that have?" Voldemort scoffed._

 _"The power of promise, of the future. Of hope. And it will mean your end, once and for all."_

 _Hermione walked over to Harry and placed her hand over his head, fingers brushing the hair away from his scar. "You are my greatest love, Harry Potter. And my only. You have been since I saw you on that train. No one has ever found the way through my defenses the way you did without even trying. I will love you from this life into the next."_

 _Voldemort bent double, his voice an angry, raspy whisper. "It will never work, he can't hear you." But he was sinking towards the ground._

 _"His heart can. That's what matters."_

 _When Voldemort lay prone on the ground, Hermione stepped past Harry and walked towards him wand raised. But she couldn't perform the curse. She only knew the words, not the practice. In their plans, Harry had always been the one to take Voldemort down. Never had Hermione thought she'd be the only one standing._

 _Sensing her hesitation, Voldemort raised his wand._

 _As he did, wand shaking in fear, Hermione had begun muttering her own charm. One she'd written but had never tried. Out of pure fear, and screaming the charm, Hermione turned to run._

 _With a voice almost gone, Voldemort uttered, "Avada Kedavra."_

 _She managed a few steps before she was surrounded by green light, and felt a crippling pain in her back._

"The next thing I knew," Hermione sighed as she ran her fingers over Harry's arms, "I was lying in a hospital bed in America." She had expected the recounting of her encounter with Voldemort to bring the same fear and pain that it had originally. She was wrong. The only thing she felt was peace.

"And I woke up just in time to see you disappear and Voldemort fall dead." Harry replied blankly.

At some point during her recitation, they had leaned back against the headboard, her back to his stomach, Harry's arms securely around her.

Silence descended. Hermione's throat hurt from overuse, and her heart ached for what she was sure to come. Any moment now, Harry was going to pull away and blame her for pushing him away, for being too stubborn to listen to Trelawney. For causing him and everyone else four years of anguish.

But he didn't. Instead, he leaned down and placed a feather light kiss to her cheek. "Since the train?"

Hermione sprang from his arms and turned to face him, a confused blush on her cheeks. "What?"

"You told me you loved me since we met on the train. Granted, not something you want to hear for the first time while unconscious. Or four years after it was originally said. But you said it nonetheless. Or were you lying?"

"You know I wasn't." Hermione felt positive that her cheeks were going to catch fire from the heat they were generating.

"Do you still?" Harry looked at her intently. She could sense the insecurity of a boy who'd grown up not knowing love at all. And the confidence of a man who would traverse hell itself to find her.

"I suppose I do," she said primly. Her next sound was an outraged squeak as Harry grabbed an arm and flung her around, pinning her to the bed with his body. He moved his hands up to frame her face, then lowered his mouth to hers.

He fully intended to keep it simple. It didn't stay simple for long. Being this close to her was intoxicating. His mouth moved from hers to trail feather light kisses along her jawline. When he reached the pulse point of her throat, felt the pounding of her blood beneath his lips, he pulled back. Their eyes met, their labored breathing the only sound in the room.

And without words, with no other connection than their eyes, he asked and she consented.

They explored each other with the confidence of love and the hesitancy of inexperience. Hands and mouths merged and separated, bodies pressed and released and two hearts sang with the glory of becoming united at last.

Later, as they lay panting and tangled on the bed, Harry summoned the comforter from the floor and wrapped it around them. Fumbling for his wand, he lit the candles on her dresser and gazed at her, a grin tugging at his mouth.

"You're an amazing witch, Hermione," he sighed.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she giggled.

"Not just that," he grinned back. "I can't believe you wrote a counter to AK, Hermione. At seventeen."

"Well. It was simple, actually. A twist on the rebounding charm. But it wasn't perfect, though. I don't think it was supposed to shoot me across the Atlantic and wipe out my memory. I'll have to work on it." Hermione tried to stifle a yawn behind her hand.

"Mione?" Harry hoped that she couldn't hear the tremor in his voice. "Would you do something for me?"

"I thought I just did. Ow!" she yelped when he tugged at her bangs.

"Would you tell me just once, while I'm conscious, without being threatened by a dark wizard, and not during a recounting of the most horrible event in your life?"

"I love you, Harry." Hermione turned around in his arms and faced him. Even through the muted moonlight coming through the window, she could see the intensity of his green eyes. The purpose behind them.

"Then will you marry me?"

Hermione held her breath as the question seemed to dance around her head. She wanted to scream "yes" to the rooftops. Instead, she did what she had to do.

"No," she answered sadly.


	7. Chapter 7

"No?" Harry would have fallen over if he hadn't been lying in bed.

"I can't, Harry." Hermione felt tears welling from the shock in his voice. But she held onto her resolve.

"Why the hell not?" Harry sat up and ran his fingers through already unkempt hair. The anger that surged through him abruptly vanished when he noticed her tears. "I thought you loved me," he said quietly.

Hermione felt her heart breaking. Harry had spent his formative years feeling unloved and unworthy...and now she'd made him feel that way again. She grabbed his hand tightly and lifted his chin so their eyes met. She had to make him understand.

"I do love you, Harry. That's why I can't marry you. Not now." She put a finger over his lips as he started to speak. If she didn't get this out now, she never would. "The last time we were together, Harry, we were seventeen years old. Even in the wizarding world, we were still children. When I say I love you, it's true. But it's a child's love. The love of a teenage girl who's fallen for her best friend.

"We're adults now, with adult lives. The past four years have been more than just a separation. We've grown into different people than we were at Hogwarts. You're a teacher. I'm a librarian. You spent years struggling with your grief. I spent years not knowing who I was. These things changed us, Harry. We need time to get to know the people we've become before we can commit to a lifetime together."

Harry said nothing. He couldn't. Having Hermione reject his proposal had robbed him of the ability to form coherent thought. But as he listened, he realized that she was right. Trust Hermione to look at the situation from all angles rather than plunge recklessly ahead.

Hermione watched as Harry closed his eyes then held her breath when he finally opened them again. "I understand, Mione."

Only then did she exhale. She cupped his face in her hands and drew him towards her.

Harry halted her before their lips met. "This doesn't mean you want us seeing other people, does it?"

"You damn well better not, Harry Potter, or you'll spend a lifetime trying to get the hex marks off," she grinned, grabbing his shoulders and wrestling him beneath her.

"But you will marry me eventually, won't you?" he asked softly, a vague shadow of the insecure little boy still evident in his voice.

Not trusting her own voice, she kissed him instead.

*^*^*^*^

"What's keeping them, do you think?" Ron asked Mariah as he walked back into the hotel room from the balcony. Hermione had called hours ago to say they'd be on their way soon, but since then they'd heard nothing.

"Think about it, Ron." Mariah answered smugly.

"Ah," Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, you're probably right." Warmth spread through him as he thought of Harry and Hermione together again. It had been a long road to travel, full of potholes and detours, but the trip had been worth it...which reminded him. "Mariah?"

"Yes?" The room fell silent momentarily as Ron paused to gather his thoughts. He didn't particularly like humble pie.

"I want to apologize again," Ron began awkwardly. "For yelling at you yesterday. I should have been thanking you for everything you did, not criticizing the way you did it. After all, you didn't have to send the message or put the sleep charm on Hermione's bed. And you watched over her when we couldn't."

"You make it sound like I was babysitting her, Ron."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. But you were there for her when she needed a friend. She was a witch without memory of her powers, an easy target for a dark wizard looking for a way to..." Ron stopped. The mere thought of what could have happened had anyone but Mariah found Hermione was staggering. "But you stood by her, became her friend. And you led us to her. I'll always be grateful for that."

Mariah felt the warmth creeping into her cheeks. "Ron," she began, but was cut off when he crossed the room to sit beside her.

"Just say thank you, Mariah," he grinned.

"Thank you," she replied dutifully, a smile pulling at her mouth. _Tell him now, Mariah, tell him you have to go_ , her conscience screamed. But he was too close. She couldn't think.

Something foreign and wonderful lit up the blue of his eyes, and he leaned in towards her. _He's going to kiss me_ , she thought anxiously, _I can't let him do that._ And before she could think about it any further, it was too late.

An explosion went off in her stomach, her nerve endings sizzled, and her heart sped into triple time as Ron's mouth moved over hers. Shaking fingers raised to his shoulders to push him away, but they got lost and ended up threading through his hair. Then they pulled him closer. A voice at the back of her head was screaming, _you can't do this, Mariah. Stop now_. But Ron's lips on hers, his hands unbuttoning her blouse, silenced all protests. She didn't want him to stop. Ever.

Later, much, much later, Ron took in a deep breath, shifted and settled Mariah's head on his shoulder, his hand threading through her hair. "Hmmmm," he sighed.

"Silver tongued devil," Mariah commented, worry and happiness warring within her. The small voice within her having awoken again.

"You weren't complaining earlier," Ron laughed, then winced as she pinched him. "We may want to get off this couch, though. Harry and Hermione could walk in at any moment..." He laughed harder when she sprang from him and began gathering her clothes in a mad dash to the bathroom. But he hastily replaced his clothes as well.

"Oh no," Mariah said, her voice muffled by the wall separating them.

"Mariah?" he called, a shimmer of worry threading through him.

She came back into the living area, holding her left wrist tightly, a strange look on her face. "I have to go," she said quietly and grabbed up her large purse.

Ron thought he heard her mumble something like "what have I done" but it was so low, he wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

"What's wrong?" The worry was intensifying rapidly as she nearly ran for the door. His heart was thudding heavily.

"Nothing," she said hastily, but Ron knew she was lying. "I just...I have to go," she repeated, again in a very low voice.

"Is there someone else?" Ron asked, the thud in his chest intensifying into dread. He'd never even thought she might be involved.

"Sort of."

"Isn't that like being sort of pregnant, Mariah? You either are or you aren't."

"It's complicated, Ron." Mariah made it to the door before Ron blocked her.

"Hang on," he said, not even trying to hide the sudden desperation he felt. "When will I see you again?"

"I don't know. But it'd be better for you if you didn't," Mariah said softly. She gave into impulse and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Ron," she whispered and Disapparated.

Ron stared at the place she had been for five full minutes before moving over to the chair in front of the television to wait for Harry and Hermione.

^*^*^*^*

Harry sat at his desk, waiting for the first years to finish their tests. But his mind wasn't on them at all. It wasn't on the Dark Arts or the staff meeting later that afternoon. It was on tomorrow. He'd be heading to the Grangers for Christmas break. He'd be seeing Hermione again.

It had been six months since they'd found Hermione. And six months since they'd started getting reacquainted. And he had to admit, courting Hermione had been rather fun. Although with the amount of flying she'd had to do between Hogwarts and the Granger's house, he doubted Hedwig would share that sentiment.

After a week of reuniting with her parents, he and Hermione had spent six weeks exploring London, Muggle and wizard. And they'd talked. Hour after hour, walking through museums, shopping in Diagon Alley. He'd told her about teaching. She'd told him about college. She hadn't changed so much as she had mellowed. There was still a thirst for knowledge, but it wasn't nearly as obsessive now. He supposed he'd changed as well, but Hermione didn't appear put off by it.

By unspoken agreement, they didn't talk about the years Harry spent dealing with his grief over her "death".

Then he'd returned to Hogwarts the last week of August to prepare for his lessons. He'd asked her again to marry him just before he left. Again, she'd refused. But this time, he mused, she'd seemed a bit more open to the prospect. Harry grinned to himself. He'd wear her down eventually.

The first letter had come a day after his return to school, and then they'd come about twice a week. Hedwig no longer stayed in his office. She'd drop the letter and go straight to the owlery after deliveries from Hermione, almost as if afraid she'd have to make the trip again before she could catch her breath.

He remembered every line from every letter.

 

 _Dearest Harry,_ (the first letter began)

 _I realize you just left this morning, but I already miss you beyond words. I think Mum's a bit low as well. We spent the day in the kitchen as she's trying to teach me to cook. For some reason, magic came much easier for me..._

 

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Classes are going well. It only took this group of first years a week to get over the shock of who their teacher is. You were right, I showed the scar right off, gave them a long look. Now they focus on what's in my head instead of what's on it..._

 

 _Dearest Harry,_

 _The Halloween banquet sounds like it was fun this year, even without the troll. Molly sends her love and wanted me to tell you that you're more than welcome to stay with them over Christmas. I told her I wasn't letting you out of my sight. She laughed..._

 

 _Dear Mione,_

 _Yes, I've tried until I'm blue in the face, but I still can't get Ron to talk about Mariah. He just changes the subject. He will be coming home with me at Christmas (he promised Mrs. Weasley). Maybe you'll have better luck. I can't believe it's only a week until we're together again. I miss you so much, love..._

 

Every letter had been better than the last. It still amazed him how they made her seem closer to him, even though she was a hundred miles away.

"Time's up," he announced, noticing that the last grain of sand had finally fallen from the top of the hourglass. As they dropped off their parchments, he watched the young faces, all excited over the upcoming holiday. There were three Gryffindors huddled near the back of the classroom, and his heart gave a sentimental tug. "You, too, David, Zach and Katia."

"Just coming, Professor Potter."

"Professor Potter?" Harry's head whipped towards the doorway. Harry blinked several times to ensure he wasn't seeing things. The few remaining students whispered her name and then stared back and forth at them.

"Mione?" Harry almost forgot himself, so great was the urge to grab her and kiss the breath from her body. But the presence of his students kept him in check.

She stood still, mouth twitching as he hurried the last of the students on their way. She lost the battle with her laughter as he nearly slammed the door on the last student through it.

"Oh, Professor Potter," Hermione raised her voice to a girlish giggle. "I'm having trouble with my lessons, could you tutor me?"

"There's only one effective way to stop that mouth," Harry grinned, and then pulled her close and kissed her hard.

"What are you doing here?" he asked when they came up for air. "I thought I was meeting you tomorrow."

"I finally mastered Apparating. I got my official license today and wanted to try it out. I did well, if I do say so myself. Arrived just outside the gates. I thought you and Ron might buy me dinner and then we could go home together tomorrow." Hermione fought the compulsion to tell him the real reason she'd come to Hogwarts. He'd find out soon enough.

*^*^*^

"Hermione Granger!" Madam Rosmerta called the moment they crossed the threshold of the Three Broomsticks. Before Hermione could return the greeting, she was enfolded in a bear hug that nearly broke her ribs. "I can't tell you how happy I am to have you back here." She wiped away at her eyes before ushering them to a table.

Ron walked in a second after they took their seats, and Madam Rosmerta clucked her tongue. "I should have known. You can't know how good it does my heart to see the three of you together. It's like everything is right with the world again." She walked away, still blotting her eyes.

"Rosmerta's getting soft in her old age," Ron commented as he took his seat.

She immediately came over and thunked him on the back of the head with a towel. "I can still throw you out, Mr. Weasley," she sniffed and walked back towards the bar.

"Maybe not," he grinned, rubbing his head. "So, Hermione, Apparating now, eh? How's it feel to be an official adult witch?"

"Wonderful, and Mum will be thrilled that I don't have to practice anymore. I think I scared a few years off her while I worked on it." Hermione laughed as she thought of the look on her mum's face when she'd suddenly appear next to her.

Harry and Hermione glanced nervously at each other, neither wanting to bring up Mariah, but both dying to ask.

"Quit it, you two," Ron said testily. "Okay, look. Mariah and I had a bit of a falling out. I get the distinct impression that she never wanted to see me again. That's it. Now can we please drop it?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione reached over and took his hand. "I'm sorry. I just...I've gotten a few letters from her, but she's seemed so secretive. I was sort of hoping that you and she were corresponding..."

"No." Ron said and swiftly changed the subject. Even after six months, thoughts of Mariah still stung. "So what did Dumbledore say?" he asked Hermione. She looked vaguely guilty, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"About what?" Harry asked, shifting in his chair to face her directly.

"A job, in a way," Hermione answered, hoping Harry wouldn't be too angry that she'd spoken to Ron about it and not him.

"Doing what?"

Hermione dearly wished he'd stop with the two word questions. His face was a blank slate, giving nothing away. "Research, I guess you'd call it. I want to continue work on the AK rebound, and Hogwarts seemed the best place to do it. Professor Dumbledore has agreed to let me work on it there. Professor Flitwick's going to help. I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure if he'd agree. I didn't want you getting your hopes up."

Her lungs were suddenly incapable of expelling air. She was watching Harry for any sign that he was upset. No one was more surprised than she was when a smile stretched his lips from ear to ear.

"You'll be working at Hogwarts? You'll be here, with me?"

"Yes," she said shyly.

And before she could truly believe that he was happy about it, she was in his arms being swung in a circle. Neither noticed nor cared that they had the attention of the entire bar. His lips met hers as her feet hit the floor. The kiss wasn't gentle, and it wasn't soft. It was almost a branding, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't hard enough.

Harry pulled back slightly, arms still firm around her and said, "Marry me, Hermione,"

"Okay," she answered, straightfaced.

Harry nearly fell over. He'd become so accustomed to her saying no, he had to shake his head to make sure he wasn't hearing things. "What did you say?"

"I said okay." Hermione grasped his shoulders and pulled his mouth back to hers. But Harry wouldn't be distracted.

"You're serious?" He was almost afraid to believe it.

"I'm serious, Harry. Mum and I went shopping the other day and I saw this robe in Madam Malkins. All I could think was 'this is the one I'll wear when we get married'. I decided then that since I was already planning to do it, I might as well let you know."

When she stopped speaking, they finally realized that the bar had grown completely silent. A blush tinted Hermione's cheeks as she returned the smiles of all those around them.

"About bloody time," Ron said loudly, breaking the silence and paving the way for congratulations from all the customers, including a now openly crying Madam Rosmerta.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry paused on his third loop around Ron's bedroom. He was pacing again. Dammit. He tried to sit back down on the bed but that didn't work. Moments later he was moving around the room again, hands twisting and heart thudding. Where the hell had Ron gotten to? He was doing a bloody rotten job as best man. Harry blew out an exasperated sigh.

When he heard the soft footfalls on the staircase leading to the room, his heart ceased thudding and jumped straight into his throat. It couldn't be time already.

"Come in," he croaked when a knock sounded.

"Harry," Sirius asked, brow creasing, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry waved a hand, but it was shaking so badly it looked like he was waving goodbye.

He expected more serious concerns from his godfather and was thrown off when he began to laugh instead. "I imagine you've been told several times how like your father you are, Harry. And I'm going to add one more onto the pile. When I came to tell James the ceremony was about to begin, he looked ready to bounce straight out the window with nerves. You don't look much more composed."

"I don't know what it is, Sirius. I love her more than my own life. I know she loves me. I should be happy, not scared to death. Honestly, I walked into that cave with less fear than I feel right now.

"And it would help a great deal if you would stop laughing," Harry ground out between his teeth. "Why did you come up here, anyway?"

"I came to give you something," Sirius' face sobered at once. "After your parents died," he paused to clear his throat. "After I watched Hagrid fly off with you, I took a few stolen moments to search the house. I knew I couldn't stay around long enough to look after Lily and James, but I had to get the pin before I left."

"Pin?" Harry asked.

"This pin," Sirius dug into the pocket of his robes and removed something tiny. "I've been holding it for you in my Gringott's vault all these years. And since James gave it to Lily on their wedding day, I thought it appropriate that I give it to you on yours."

Harry held out his hand for the trinket. It was a delicate gold pin in the shape of a stag. "Prongs," Harry whispered.

"Exactly so." Sirius wiped a hand over his face and Harry pretended not to see the wetness there.

Harry ran a finger over the delicate pin before handing it back to Sirius. "Would you take it to Hermione for me?"

"Of course," Sirius smiled.

^*^*^*^*

Harry wouldn't have been pleased to know that on the opposite side of the house, in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom, Hermione was in much better shape.

She'd planned this affair within an inch of its life and knew everything was running in perfect order. Putting Ginny in charge of it had assured that. The only stumbling block had been Mrs. Granger. Hermione's mother, elated at having her only child returned, had wanted to go all out. Invite the whole wizarding world and damn the cost. But neither Harry nor Hermione wanted that. So she had conceded to their request to keep the wedding small and private. After so much of their lives spent in the public eye, they wanted this kept among only their family and closest friends.

To appease Mrs. Granger, they let her plan an elaborate reception for after their honeymoon.

Keeping the secret hadn't been as difficult as they'd imagined. Mrs. Weasley had offered them the Burrow's large back yard for the ceremony. Madam Malkin had agreed to go to Hermione's house to fit her wedding robes. Georg Tambor had gone to the Burrow to show Harry the rings he'd designed. It was a mark of the esteem they were held in that no one mentioned a thing.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, at the flowing white robes that caressed the floor when she moved, satisfied that everything was perfect.

"Still needs something, dear," the mirror piped up again. They'd been fussing for nearly half an hour, but the mirror kept insisting the same thing.

"I'm assuming you have the whole old, new, borrowed, blue thing taken care of," Mariah quipped, forcing a joviality she didn't feel knowing Ron was somewhere in this house.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "I'm wearing the earrings Mum wore at her wedding, borrowed. The handkerchief is old, Grandmother Granger's. You've given me the hair combs. And the blue is for me to know and Harry to find out," she giggled.

"Then I don't know what we could be missing," Mariah glanced at the mirror again, almost daring it to contradict her.

"Mariah," Hermione began, but stopped when her friend glared at her.

"Don't, Hermione. Wild horses couldn't have kept me away from your wedding, but let's not go into what happened between Ron and me, okay? Believe me, you're better off not knowing."

Hermione sighed. Ever since Mariah had arrived yesterday, she'd been trying to broach the subject. Mariah had thwarted her at every turn. So she'd let it drop, just as Mariah had respected her privacy when she was Jane. Hermione owed her that much and more.

A knock sounded, breaking the tension. Mariah went to answer it as Hermione returned to the dressing table to finish taming her hair. As confident as she appeared, Hermione still felt as though her stomach had grown wings and was trying to fly away.

"Who is it, Mariah?" She turned to see why it had grown so quiet. Hermione jumped to her feet and launched herself into Sirius' arms. "I'm so glad you made it," she gushed as Sirius spun her once around and returned her to the ground. "Mariah?"

Mariah stood with the door handle still in her hand, staring at Harry's godfather with her mouth agape. "Sirius Black?" she whispered.

"The one and only. Don't worry, my dear. I'm not nearly as dangerous as the _Prophet_ made me out to be. Hermione, you look beautiful, as always. I just came to deliver this and then I'm off to try and calm my godson down again."

"Again? Is he nervous?" Hermione couldn't stop the grin from spreading over her face.

"I'd say anxious is a better word. See you at the altar." Sirius placed a kiss to her forehead, placed a bundle into her hand and left without another word.

"Are you okay?" Hermione removed the door handle from Mariah's hand and shut the door before opening the parcel Sirius delivered.

"Yeah," Mariah breathed. "He kinda gives new meaning to drop dead gorgeous, doesn't he?"

Hermione chuckled, but stopped when she read the note.

 _Mione,_

 _Sirius has just brought this to me. As my Dad gave it to my Mum on their wedding day, I am giving it to you. Until we meet at the altar, love,_

 _Harry._

Hermione gasped as she unwrapped the golden stag. Saying nothing, she pinned it to her wedding robes and glanced again at the mirror.

"Perfect, my dear," the mirror praised. Hermione agreed wholeheartedly.

Before she could get her bearings, another knock sounded. Hermione and Mariah glanced at each other and Hermione swallowed audibly. Mariah swung the door open and Ron stood there, grinning wildly.

"It's time. Dumbledore's arrived. Everyone's seated. And Harry's just about paced a rut in the floor of my room."

Ron cut his eyes to Mariah's. The smile disappeared, but he managed a curt nod. "Mariah."

"I was just leaving," she said shortly and swished past Ron. He followed right on her heels.

"Wait," he called to her rapidly retreating back.

"I can't talk to you, Ron." She turned and faced him, eyes lowered. "I had to be here for Hermione, but I can't talk to you. I promised."

"Promised who? Why?" Ron's face was growing redder by the moment as his frustration grew. He saw her turn to leave and grabbed her shoulders, holding firm until she looked him in the eyes. The sadness he saw there staggered him.

"Please don't do this to me," she nearly wept. "If you care for me at all..."

The soft voice combined with the sheen of tears in her eyes just about undid him. "All right, then." He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I care for you a great deal, Mariah." Ron turned and walked away, his heart not quite broken...but aching terribly. But this was a joyous occasion, he reminded himself heading back into the room towards Hermione.

"Ready to tell me what's going on with you two?" Hermione's brow creased as Ron came back into the room.

"It's nothing, Hermione. Forget it, okay?" Ron said blankly. A silence followed, and their eyes met. Then she seemed to remember his initial reason for coming to the room and began grinning like a fool.

"So this is it?" Hermione's voice raised with every word.

"Yeah, unless you want to ditch the stupid prat and run off with me," Ron teased.

"Tempting," she pretended to consider for a moment, "but I think I'll stick with the other guy."

Ron slung an arm around her shoulders and led her towards the backyard.

Hermione took her father's arm as the music began. Mariah placed a quick kiss to her cheek and preceded her down the aisle to where Harry and Ron stood waiting. _Ginny's outdone herself_ , she thought as she walked under the latticework ceiling Ginny'd constructed and threaded with flowers.

Then she saw Harry, and all other thoughts fled. Dressed in robes of deep green, and hair as unkempt as usual, he looked simply wonderful. His shy smile and fiery green eyes intensified as their gazes connected.

Harry stood dumbfounded. Never in his life had he seen anything more beautiful than Hermione as she walked towards him. She'd insisted on following the Muggle custom of the groom not seeing the wedding dress, and Harry had thought it comical. After all, wedding robes were pretty much the same as day-to-day ones, just white, so where was the mystery? He knew the moment he saw her. For it wasn't just the robes, it was the woman wearing them. And the combination nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore touched his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he asked, still unable to drag his eyes from Hermione's warm brown gaze. A rumble of laughter ran through the assorted guests, and Harry realized he'd been so caught up in Hermione, he'd lost track of the ceremony. "Sorry," he grinned sheepishly and turned his attention to Dumbledore.

Hermione gripped his hand, the ceremony progressed, and they were joined, husband and wife.

*^*^*^*^

Dawn had just broken over the horizon as the paper landed on the bed with a soft flop. The delivery owl swooped back out the window without a sound.

"Harry," Hermione sat straight up, tucked the bed sheet under her arms and unrolled the paper. "Wake up, it's here!"

"Mmmph," Harry grunted and rolled over.

"Harry!" Hermione swatted him on the head with the paper when he faked a loud snore.

"What? For someone who kept me up until," he glanced at his watch, "an hour ago, you certainly have a surplus of energy this morning."

"But Ginny's announcement should be in here, aren't you curious at all?" Ginny's boyfriend worked at the _Prophet_ and had guaranteed he'd send a copy the moment it was off the press.

"I was there, love. I was an active participant," he opened one eye and squinted. The look on her face was priceless. "Okay, I'm a little curious. Read it to me."

"Let me just find it. Oh my. Harry, they put us on the front page."

"How surprising," Harry mumbled, clearly not surprised at all.

>   
> 
>
>> "'Potter, Granger Wed in Private Ceremony. Special to the _Daily Prophet_ by Ginny Weasley. Yesterday, two of the most noted names in the wizarding world, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, were joined in marriage at the home of Arthur and Molly Weasley. The bride was resplendent in robes of shimmering white adorned only by a gold pin, a gift from the groom. The groom wore robes of deep green velvet. The couple exchanged simple gold rings in a ceremony presided over by their former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Mariah Jamison, an American friend of Granger's, was maid of honor and Ronald Weasley, manager of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade, was best man.
>> 
>> Although the wedding was kept secret, as well as the honeymoon location, there will be a reception for all those wishing to congratulate the couple in one week's time at Jensen's Hall in Diagon Alley.'
> 
>   
> 

"It's a bit too short and to the point for Ginny," Harry noted gratefully. "I'd half expected a full page dissertation on the ceremony, complete with our biographies."

"It probably was," Hermione grinned back at him, the sheet falling unnoticed to her lap. "I'm guessing Iain edited it a bit."

"Poor Iain," Harry sympathized.

Beside the brief article, there was a black and white photo of Harry and Hermione, smiling, with their arms entwined. Harry looked distinctly uneasy, and Hermione simply beamed.

"Honestly, Harry. Couldn't you have come up with a better smile on our wedding day?" Hermione glanced over at him.

"No," he said, running a finger down her bare shoulder. "I had more important things on my mind."

"Like what?" she said, affronted.

"Like this," Harry grinned and took the paper from her hands before rolling her beneath him.

*^*^*^*^*^

After a week hidden away in Ireland, where they saw very few sights and very much of each other, Harry and Hermione made their way towards Jensen's Hall.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Both had hoped they could simply walk through the crowd unnoticed for a while. Fred and George Weasley had other ideas. Before anyone else arrived, they'd placed a charm on the doors. The moment the newlyweds crossed the threshold, a loud booming voice announced:

"They're here! They're here! Gather 'round, everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Potter are here!"

Harry put his head in his hand and Hermione blushed several attractive shades of scarlet. When Harry wiped a hand across his face, Hermione snapped her gaze to his. "Harry, did you just..." but she was interrupted by a throng of well wishers that were so enthusiastic, Harry and Hermione were nearly trampled to death.

After nearly a half-hour of backslapping and cheek kisses, they reached their table. Harry cast a wry look at Ron, who had set up the seating. So much for his request not to have a head table. Ron merely smirked in response.

"You only get married once, Harry, right?"

"Right," answered Hermione.

Ron laughed again. "The boss speaks. Anyway, you may as well be the complete center of attention."

"I'm gonna remember this, Weasley," Harry warned.

Not long after they'd taken their seats, food appeared on the tables and the cacophony of hundreds of people eating at the same time filled the hall. As they ate, Harry and Hermione waved hellos to their friends and former teachers. To Harry, it seemed everyone they'd ever met was here. He was both thrilled and awed by that fact.

A quiet clang of silver on crystal quieted the room down. A fairly neat trick, considering the amount of people in the hall. All of the occupants of a table near the front stood. Harry recognized his former Quidditch teammates at once. Oliver Wood spoke for the group. "If you'd all raise your glasses," he paused while they did. "A toast. To the best Seeker Gryffindor's ever seen and to the only witch who'll ever ride his broomstick."

This time it was Harry's turn to blush beet red, but he was laughing as he did so. And since Wood was blushing as well, he guessed that the toast had come from someone else -- like a redheaded Beater or two.

"Seriously, though" Wood continued, "to Harry and Hermione. May you have days of joy, years of happiness and a lifetime of peace."

Glasses raised and choruses of "here, here" were uttered around the room.

Ron stood next. "Four years ago, many of us gathered to say goodbye to a cherished friend. And now, through the grace of an imperfect charm, we have welcomed her home." He turned toward them, a faint glistening in his eyes. "Harry, Hermione, we've been best friends almost from the outset. We've been through more than most together, and we've come through it all as close as ever. You may not know this, but there are some of us in this very room who spent our seventh year wondering exactly how long it was going to take the two of you to admit what we all knew. Which reminds me, Dean and Seamus, you each owe me ten Galleons." Ron paused for the laughter to subside. "And now," he raised his glass, "to my best friends. Together for now, together forever, as it was always meant to be."

Mariah stood up right after Ron finished embracing Harry and Hermione. "To my best friend and the man who brought her home. Even when you didn't remember him, Hermione, you knew Harry was someone special. Now that I've gotten to know him, I have to agree. It took a while, and some imperfect plans of a not-so-brave witch, but I am glad for whatever small part I had in reuniting you. Have a wonderful life together, one of peace, of love, and of everlasting joy." Hermione saw her cut her eyes towards Ron and wipe them furtively.

Sirius raised his glass next, "To the two that saved my life, and a promise to my godson that when he turns into a typical man and says the wrong thing at the wrong time, I'll be there with Buckbeak to return the favor."

The toasting went on for nearly half an hour. Some serious, some lighthearted. Some, with further references to Harry's broomstick or wand, were downright raunchy.

After several covert motions and one downright threat from Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance and Hermione stood. "I was elected to speak for both of us, because everyone knows how much Harry enjoys standing in front of large groups of people. A bit odd for a teacher, if you ask me." She leaned over and kissed his cheek and waited for the chorus of approval to subside. "I'm not one for long speeches myself, so I'll just say thank you all for coming. After years of being away, and then returning," she paused and gripped Harry's hand, "seeing all of you here, I finally feel like I've come home.

"But one good thing did come from living as an American Muggle for four years," she continued. "I got to hear some wonderful music." Hermione felt rather than saw Harry's confused expression as she reached for her wand and waved it over the crowd. "And one of the best things about being a bride is that you can demand the groom dance with you, no matter how much he protests."

Overhead, strains of music and a woman's voice filled the air. "I will remember you, will you remember me..." And as the words began to have meaning to Harry, he smiled and took her hand, pulled her close and they danced.

"You've gotten better," Hermione murmured in his ear.

"It's not me, love, it's my partner," he whispered back. Harry touched his lips to her forehead and continued swaying to the music. Every word echoed his emotions throughout the long and twisted road they'd walked to arrive at this moment. "I love you, Mione."

"I love you, too," she smiled into his shoulder. Pulling back slightly, Hermione took his left hand in hers and laced their fingers together. As the two gold bands touched, a warmth radiated through their palms. Then a filigree design of intertwined lightning bolts appeared on the previously plain gold surface. Their eyes met, their souls sighed and their hearts beat as one.


End file.
